


Sticks. Stones. Stilettos.

by TheWanderingAlias



Category: GOT7, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Mafia AU, Multi, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 08:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16869775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWanderingAlias/pseuds/TheWanderingAlias
Summary: You were part of a family who bathed in its riches, but smelled of blood. A big family, with nearly a century of district-superiority in its name. You probably shouldn’t have taken that walk, though. After all, the incident of that night led your father to hire you a personal bodyguard.And then life as the daughter of a mob boss was never the same.Reader X many boysM (Language, adult themes, smut, violence)





	1. Introductions

You walked down the street, a seeming black and white lane. The city was never lifeless, even at that hour, but to you, the crowds and colors got old. It wasn’t the first time you ventured off your family’s grounds in the middle of the night; you considered yourself a professional at sneaking out after years of doing it. But seeing the same sights again and again each time was rather repetitive and dull, no matter how beautifully strung the lights donning the city were.

You stuffed your hands into your pockets, mindlessly scuffing your shoes against the curb as you waited to cross the roadway. Too many people; always too many people. The city was full of them, the never-ending sea of ants, who lost their souls in their fame and wealth. It always made you scoff; your family was no different.

Coming from generations of mafia men— orchestrated sometime in the 20s— you found yourself sticking out like a sore thumb in the Family who wore their dated name with pride. The “L/N”s.

The Family had created quite a record for itself through the many years since establishment, not only in the underground world of drugs and forgery, but up top where even the highest of officials tried to steer clear.

It had its ups; being the big dog in the modern age. Though, you rarely made use of the privileged lifestyle; it all seemed too easy, like you had nothing to work for… nothing to do. Which is why it was always boring to stay on the Family’s turf, holed up in a mansion with a room far too large to be comfortable in.

You crossed the street, careful to keep your chin down under your hood when passing a group of Baddies. That’s what you liked to call them. They were the guys who dressed fancy but were ridden with the smell of blood. Probably perps from some other gang family in the district. You were always told to avoid them, and despite your late night escapades that were against Family code, that was one rule you always obeyed. They were no-good-doers, and it wasn’t too hard to pick them out in a crowd; you just had to look for the murder in their eyes. Of course, it helped you were used to seeing those eyes in your own Family, too.

When you were clear of them, you continued your aimless trek, stepping farther and farther from the city life. It was definitely stupid and dangerous to be out there alone, but that was the thrill of it; anything could have happened. Anything that would take you away from your normal life of being spoon-fed diamonds on an obsidian tray.

You laughed. It wasn’t far off from that, yeah.

A whiff of gray smoke caught in the air, the end of a cigarette smoldering from an alleyway to your left. The figure was a lurking shadow, a veil of mysterious darkness against the brick wall, hardly distinguishable in the moonlight.  You didn’t need the attention coughing would bring you, so you bit back the need to cleanse your lungs and held your breath as you passed. Disgusting stench.

“It’s not so bad.” You flinched, boots coming to a standstill.

… What? Was he talking to you?

“After all, a girl like you is bound to be used to it by now, right?” The voice was deep, raspy… something you’d expect from a back alley bum. But something in his tone made you think he was far from that. You saw the shadow move in the corner of your eye, a hint of fear seeping in as you heard he was approaching. The silhouette wore a hat, those old fashioned bowler caps you saw in crime movies, his coat long enough to catch in the wind.

“A girl surrounded by big men with big mouths…” You turned your head slightly, fingering your hood to see him slink his lanky, cloaked body out from the lair of darkness. He chuckled hoarsely, but you couldn’t see the crooked grin that must have been on his face.

“Big wallets too.” And, after it all, it didn’t take a genius to assume the flash of silver in his palm was a switchblade, a steel stiletto in the moonlight. He lunged at you faster than you could respond, gangly arms wrapping around you as one gloved palm covered your mouth and the other drew a prick of blood from your neck, the arc of the blade pressed against your exposed skin as you struggled to focus on how to escape.

“Though I suppose they smoke sweet, rich cigars instead, right?” His voice was in your ear, his form overpowering you entirely. You fisted his hand, a futile attempt to lessen the pressure.

“Be a good girl, and you won’t spill any more blood tonight.” This asshole. You spewed obscenities into his hand, trying to bite through the cloth, to no avail. “All I want is your daddy’s payment. Like he promised.”

Payment? Your father owed? Impossible, he may have been the most well-known mob boss, but he was also a proper businessman. He always did his part of a deal, no need for the other party to retaliate in such a manner.

In disbelief, you found yourself angry, finally regaining from your initial shock. You thought through the scenario of escape in your head, rethinking it when the grip around your shoulders grew tighter. But if that were the case… He was leaning forward, to cower over you, meaning one leg was supporting more body weight than the other, giving him that height advantage.  Your eyes glanced down, just enough to confirm your suspicions; as his back heel was raised, his front leg was bearing most of his balance. That was it; that was your point of attack.

With a sharp intake of breath, and preparation, you kicked a foot right into his straightened knee, a sickening pop sounding with the impact. He groaned, falling back, and you tore through his loosened limbs.

“You bitch!”

He swiped at you in your evasive maneuver, managing to slice the top layer of skin on your forearm through your hoodie, but you gritted your teeth through it, charging down the sidewalk you first came.

“Get back here!”

“No! Skinny-ass jerk!”

You ignored him as he called after you, racing back to the crowded streets of the lively city. “Ah shit,” the cut on your arm was beginning to sting, but you refused to stop, footsteps light against the concrete. When you disappeared from sight, hidden amidst a flamboyant crowd, you slowed, hands on your knees. You didn’t realize how far you had waltzed, and it was careless of you.

But… was this the thrill you were seeking? You forgot the last time your heart beat so fast, or you were THAT out of breath. In the end, your body shaking as you regained stamina, you were smiling. Still weird though; what did he mean by payment? That’s definitely never happened before. And how did he know it was you?

You laughed softly, probably a bizarre sight from the onlookers, but you suddenly froze upon hearing a familiar voice.

“Y/N?” Oh, shit. Steaming pile of shit. Of all people to find you. You looked up through your tendrils of fallen hair, realizing your hood had flown back through your sprint. Then, you met the eyes of the man sternly gazing down at you.

“Oh… Hey there… Junior…” You stood up, a wry smile on your face, your eyes reflecting innocence so maybe the compassionate side of him would spring out and embrace you and tell you you’re loved. But Junior didn’t play that way, especially when he was mad. And he was undeniably infuriated.

Junior, your father’s right hand man; he guarded the big boss man, even assisting in business deals. Your father’s most trusted, loyal servant. Also responsible for single handedly taking out one of the Lessie Family’s bases with a single bowey knife. You gulped.

“What brings you out here tonight?” You sheepishly laughed, though, he, with his fiery glaring eyes, was silent. This won’t be fun.

“—What were you thinking?! Not only are you an idiot, but you’re an idiot who was almost killed!” Your father paced the floor as you twiddled your thumbs. Yeah, but it was also kind of cool. Not that you’d say that, though. He was fuming.

“How many times have you gone out behind my back? Ten? Twenty? Thirty goddamn times?!”

“Thirty-two, actually…” He stopped to glare at you, the bald spot on his head glinting under the main hall’s lights. You swallowed thickly. “Ah, sorry, continue.”

You were standing with a slumped posture, being scolded for the first time in years. Junior stood at your side, his stature poised and hands together behind his back. He had taken you in without a word, having spotted you by chance when he was out for a walk; he knew you were aware of the earful you’d earned.

“Not only were you endangering yourself, but you were endangering the entire Family! Do you realize how important it is we don’t let anyone get the best of us? That is how enterprises fall! But you and your little stroll risked the entire name of this mansion!” At this point you were getting tired of what the old man had to say, frustration boiling within you. You bit your lip to keep from saying anything you’d regret, but Junior must have noticed. He bumped your elbow, and you glared up at him, lips pouted.

“Listen to what your father has to say.” He stated quietly, simply, and had he not been so good looking, you would have been more tempted to slap him. This was getting out of hand. You already learned your lesson, the blood dripping down your sleeve being more than enough a reminder to know what you did was wrong.

You interrupted your father with a raised voice, “I understand, it will not happen again!” The room fell silent, and you realized your eyes were closed. You opened them to a look of surprise on the old man’s face. Had you ever been so loud? You cleared your throat, but didn’t stand down, the annoyance within you taking a clutch to your pride.

“It was my mistake, and I do so believe constantly preaching about the Family’s name will do no better than simply telling me not to do it again.” Wow, you actually did it. Even Junior looked surprised in your peripheral. And your father—well he was at a loss of words. You stood up against the most powerful man in the district, not as daughter to father, but as peasant to king. You have never seen that look on his face; it was that of shock, and then even more anger than before, but he took a long drag on his cigar, eyes boring into you the entire time. It looked as though he’d leave it at that, relaxing with the exhale of gray cloud.

And he did. He ordered Junior to escort you to your room, and the both of you turned to head up the stairs before you found yourself pivoting to face him, a sudden question ringing in your ears.

“Father—the man who attacked me… he was going to use me to bargain you for money. He said you owe him a payment. Do you really owe people?” His bushy brows narrowed as a flash of some unidentifiable emotion swept over his features.

“Leave the business talks to the big people, girl.” You almost gasped after he said it, never feeling so small in front of anyone ever before. He called you ‘girl’? Yeah, obviously, you were one… but… he never said anything like that. He spoke as though you were bloodlines apart, as though he were talking to a trash bin in the street.

Junior wordlessly led you up the stairs after that, and you were left contemplating what may have been going on. Because something was definitely going on.

“What the hell was that about?” You muttered quietly, almost fearing the chance your father would hear you despite you being in your room. Junior silently dressed your wound, wrapping it firmly with gauze and medical tape as you sat on your bed. He wouldn’t say anything, but maybe if you…

“Junior please tell me, what is going on? Why did that man go after me? How did he even know who I am?” You posed your questions with a tone that oozed authority; you were the daughter of his boss, time to act like it. “I have the right to know; my father’s business affairs affect my life as much as they affect yours.”

His motions had stopped, and he looked at you darkly, almost as though he was silently telling you you’d get nothing from him. But he sighed, situating himself next to you on the bed.

“The past few years, your father made little mistakes in who he was making deals with. Money was being exchanged between families in the district, like it always has been.” He took a breath. “But it fell through when some of his business partners ended up turning on one another. There was no way out of it, so he had to play the middle man until it was time to pick sides. Now that he has, we have more enemies.” It didn’t sound too drastic in your ears— mob families always had feuds— but another thought crossed your mind.

“Which industry was the money for?”

“Diamond.”

“Oh fuck.” You now understood why it was a big deal; diamond was always a priority demand, especially for the higher ups. Trade was as fragile as quail eggs, though, despite who in the district was ready to kill if it meant they had the highest- valued currency. No wonder you were sought out.

“And that man—do you think he was part of one of the families who’s against us?”

“Probably. Or he could just be a drifter who snooped enough for the information. Whichever it is, if he claims your father owes him, he’s either acting on a personal grudge or the spokesperson to an entire family plotting against us. ” The thought had you shivering. You weren’t even born yet when the last mob war broke out between the “L/N”s and another family. Junior was young, even, so he only told you what he was told himself. That it had been utter warfare; blood stained the streets to this day, and half the mansion had to be rebuilt due to molotovs that burned it down. You couldn’t even imagine what destruction could occur with the weapon enhancements of today.

“How did he know who I am?” You cocked your head, pondering it once again.

“He must have intel on the Family members. Thought you were the best pick since you’re the youngest. Plus it wouldn’t have been hard to trail you or track you down, with all your evenings out.” The thought was creepy. How long had you been watched? Junior paused, a perplexed look on his face. “Whatever the case, go to sleep and stop thinking about it. Your father is doubling security in the yard, so don’t even think about leaving again.” He flicked your forehead and you stuck your tongue out at him, scooting backward on the king-sized mattress after he made way for the door.

“One more thing, Y/N,” You looked up at him as you were pulling your undershirt over your head. “Don’t ask your dad anything else. Try to stay away from him for the next few weeks.” Confused, you went to question him, but he eyed your exposed abdomen and said, “Also cut back on the late night snacks. That scar looks like it’s stretching.”

“Hey!” You chucked a pillow at the closing door, missing him by an inch. “Dammit…” Avoiding your father seemed unnecessary if all you had to do was refrain from asking about his business endeavors. Despite Junior filling you in, you still had a bad feeling. Maybe you were just tired. You kicked the covers until you were comfortable, and fell asleep.

‘…we have more enemies… an entire family plotting against us…’

You entered the dining hall the following morning, clothed for the day in casual baggy jeans and a white long-sleeved cotton top. Your father’s booming voiced echoed throughout the corridors, and you couldn’t tell if he was yelling or being overly enthusiastic with someone. It was the latter, though, you discovered upon turning the corner into the room with the twenty-four seating dinner table. At the end of it, a man you’ve never seen before laughing with your father. He didn’t seem to be one of the intimidating mobsters who walked in for meetings from time to time. Instead, he was shorter, his physique still sturdy, though, under his suit jacket. He was dressed as fine as any other higher-up in the district, but the pin on his chest was out of the norm.

You went bug-eyed when you recognized the symbol, but Junior nudged you forward, and you yelped, catching the attention of the two men at the table.

“Good, Y/N. I’d like to introduce you to someone.” You shot a warning look over your shoulder to Junior, but he returned it with the same intensity. ‘Try to stay away from him for the next few weeks’.

You cleared your throat, trudging forward to meet the mystery man. His black hair was neat but rough, maybe a bit unprofessional although totally fitting to his handsome features. He looked better as you lessened the distance, until you were almost drooling under his captivating, almost playful, gaze.

“Hello, Y/N. Your father told me all about you.” His voice was soft, a high tone you didn’t usually hear from men in this neighborhood. But you could tell there was more to this man than gentle, handsome looks, especially since he was at YOUR dinner table. Especially with that pin, even.

“I wonder what he could have mentioned…” You spoke quietly, firmly shaking his offered hand.

“Director Jimin Park. Glad to be in your company.” He smiled warmly, and I relaxed, tense shoulders dropping. Your father gestured you to sit, next to Junior who had yet to speak a word. The four of you in your spots, the discussion ensued.

“Mr. Park is head of the district’s secret service organization,” Your father announced, the guest nodding in response. Your eyes flickered back to the symbol attached to his jacket, wondering why your father was inviting men of the government into the house of a family who thrived off fancy drug money. “I had a favor to ask of him, due to the fact we were on their good side during the last conflict.” Oh boy, what was this about? You hadn’t known that detail, silently meeting Junior’s eyes to see if he had any clue. He only shrugged, closed fist to his lips as he listened on.

“That’s right. You don’t need to pretend you’re not part of a business dealing with drug cartel or sale of illegal weaponry,” The two laughed like old buds, even though Jimin had to have been at least two-and-a-half times younger than your dad. “It is my decision whether or not to see past that, and as your father said, I feel it is necessary to return a favor.” You felt your eyebrows knit in question. It only became more and more confusing. You would have to bug Junior about that favor later on, or someone else in the Family.

Jimin then looked to your father, his perfect teeth lighting up the room. “As you requested, I have my best man on the way here now.”

“I’m excited to see who it is. Maybe another set of eyes on her will help her understand her place in this household.” Your father replied, a cheeky smile on his face. They laughed again, and you grew impatient.

“What the hell is going on? Who is coming?” You clutched the tablecloth, pitch rising with every syllable. Junior kicked your leg under the table, but you ignored him, eyes pleading for answers. You looked between the two; the stern eyes of your father, the kind, dark orbs of Jimin Park.

“You won’t be alone and free to wander anymore, Y/N.”

“He’s my most trusted man. He’ll keep you safe no matter what.”

I grew desperate—was I the only one anxious? The doors to the dining hall opened with unnecessary force, all of us turning, eyes meeting the newcomer as he strode in with an airy saunter.

“Ah—just in time. Y/N, this is your new babysitter.”

_BABYSITTER?_

“Babysitter?!” Junior kicked you again, but you stood up as you looked between all of them, then back to the blonde walking in, his lips tight, eyes dark and naturally daring.

“Father! I do not need a babysitter!” You all but screamed, fists clenching as you forgot all table mannerisms and leaned forward, fingers gripping the cloth tighter.

“Your actions last night beg to differ.” The blonde man had finally made it to the table, close enough for you to properly take in his good looks and conceited persona. You were mildly distracted from your anger, but you fumed when the guy looked down at you as though you were a petty rock amidst jewels. And in ways, you were proudly just that. But not when the man looked down on you as though you were a mere child.

Before you could call him out on it, your frustration meeting entirely new levels now, Jimin rose from his seat, standing next to the blonde.

“Y/N, meet Special Officer Jackson Wang; your new head of security. Or rather…“ The Jackson man sent you a sharp glare. "Your new bodyguard.”


	2. Infiltration

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You muttered under your breath, eyes scanning the features of the handsome broad-shouldered man before you—the one now deemed your bodyguard. You could almost see his lip twitch in annoyance, like he was biting back all he had to say. It was clear he’d not been looking forward to this job, though, something about him spewed obedience, like a sickly invisible slime that clogged your lungs. He was no better than a lap dog of the government. In fact, that’s exactly what he was.

“They’re not, trust me.” Okay, so maybe his voice was deep and raspy, with some unknown accent gliding off the ends of his syllables. But his words made your eyes go wide, and the waning and waxing confidence that had been fluctuating within you… hit a sudden post and fell down an abyss. You stepped back, slightly intimidated, closer to Junior, who was observing the interaction the entire time. You peered over your shoulder with a pleading glint in your orbs, but that dunghole merely shrugged, hands folded behind his back. That’s right; he was a lap dog too.

Then, you shot a glance to your father, a look that was beyond incredulous. “Father!” was all you could manage, before becoming tongue tied under his cold glare.

“Y/N. This is for your own good. Officer Wang will take good care of you for the next few months, and there is nothing that will change my mind.” This has to be some sort of joke, right? Some sick joke? You were an adult. An adult who could manage surviving without the surveillance of some cocky bastard of the state, that much you were positive of. Yet, being stricken by the stares of all four men in the dining area, you couldn’t find the words to retaliate, to knock some sense into them. No matter how strongly you were feeling towards it, all your mouth could do was hesitate.

“Sir, your appointment with the Yong Family is nearing.” Junior broke your silence for you, and your father nodded hastily, the world being drowned out around you as your mind continued searching for things to say. At some point, your father shook hands with Mr Jimin Park, leaving him with departing words as he and Junior moved for the door. You stared at a spot on the tablecloth, fists clenching tightly, beyond your conscious control.

“Y/N,” Your head shot up. Your father wasn’t looking at you, but he had stopped in the doorway. Please, dad. Please say something you won’t regret. “Behave.” He slipped his round body through the heavy doors, and your jaw went slack.

Well shit on a stick, now you’re the lap dog.

Isn’t it nice; the cool breeze flitting in through the window? Spring air infiltrating your lungs with the scent of daisies? The melodious songbirds chirping from the fountains out front? The fucktard hunk standing all manly-ish at the door?

He hadn’t uttered a word in all your endeavors back to your room. You didn’t eat anything, your appetite lost to the sudden presence sticking out in your own damn existence. Instead, it seemed logical to lie down on your bed, and try to ignore the guy. But it was incredibly hard to; even with your back turned, knowing you’re in a room with him felt awkward. The demon within you was pestering you to go and question the ‘Officer Jackson Wang’. But your weariness after the whole situation tore you down until you were too tired to stand.

Wang must have been under strict orders, like he knew exactly what to do; it was like in movies, when you see the big security guards wordlessly manning their post like the dutiful souls they were. Almost admirable—how he carried out his duty, even with obvious annoyance radiating off him.

You sighed, turning your head away from him—sure he had looks, but what a bore if all he did was stare straight ahead, tight-lipped, as though waiting for something to happen. For tragedy to strike. For something thrilling? Maybe then it’d be fun.

Eyes closed—you could bother him later. After all, if he was Park’s best man of the agency, he would have been good with abiding by rules. And that meant he’d be there when you wake up. Hopefully. You know, since he is being paid to never leave your side. Elsewise, everything you thought true because of action movies was a lie.

When you turned to find a more comfortable position, you were met with a familiar dull pain in your stomach. Familiar, because it only happened when your body was angled certain ways. Ever since you were young, it had been there. Your father said you were involved in a car accident when you were younger, and had been, just by a few inches, impaled by debris. You were too young to remember, but the scar on your stomach (running just right of your belly button) was a constant reminder you were nearly a dead five-year old. Cool, huh?

Anyways, you turned. The pain went from dull to sharp—as it always did—like the scar tissue or muscle had a permanent knot there. The pain was imminent and you wondered how you managed surviving with it growing up. You released a groan and hugged your abdomen, that dumb defensive maneuver that did nothing to cease the pain. “Shit…” You moaned out, momentarily forgetting you weren’t alone in there.

“Anything the matter… Miss?” A voice through gritted teeth sounded by the door, and you bit your lip, turning to peer at him. Sure, the look on your face must’ve been memorable—even he was shocked by it; contorted with a blend of anger and pain, perhaps with a twitching eye here and there. The change in behavior must have been beyond questionable.

“Look, I get you don’t want to be here but,” you paused to inhale sharply, “don’t try to say it like you care. And don’t call me Miss.” He rolled his eyes, breathing out like he was trying to calm himself, the most expressive he had been thus far.

“Fine,” To your surprise, he began moving towards your bed side, his pace as strong-willed and defined as his aura of beaming confidence. “What’s wrong with you, brat?” You gulped, admittedly intimidated by that sharp, pointed look of his, with ever the hint of carelessness sketched across it. But brat? Your eyes narrowed, and you were ready to retort, though your mid-section had other plans. You released another groan.

“Tummy issues?” You shot him an icy glare, gritting your own teeth as he looked down at you with an upturned lip, like it gave him satisfaction you were in pain. It probably did. Sadist.

“None of your… business…” Your words were airy, but an attempt to get him to back off. The handsome man only quirked a brow, and, instead of moving away, shrugged and crossed his arms.

“It is my business when I get paid to keep you from pain and suffering.” Cheeky? He sounded cheeky, almost as though he had rehearsed that line just for the occasion, and damn that small smile looked good on his face. “Also if it’ll get you to shut up with all the repulsive moans. You sound like a dying whale. I’d hate to hear you in bed.”

!!! THIS MAN !!!

“Piss off, you bottle-blond!”

Your steady voice surprised even yourself, echoing in the scarcely decorated room. It was his turn to be offended, eyebrows narrowing dangerously. The pain began to dim until it was as dull as it began, and you grasped your words and clung to them fiercely as you spoke. “I didn’t… ask to be stalked by some… Thor wannabe.” You had kicked your legs over the side of the bed and were suddenly standing up, approaching him like a fire that had been fueled by a tornado’s winds.

“I didn’t ask to be part of a family… where I can rarely leave the property on my own.” One step. “Where my dad doesn’t look at me as a daughter… but as a fucking future dime to stand next to him so he’d look better.” Two steps, and you were almost chest to chest, glaring up at him as he held his ground, clearly not expecting this side of you to shine. “Where the only family I’m allowed to love is either jerking off in the high-end district… or cleaning some poor fuck’s blood off a stiletto. “ The words were unwavering and unfamiliar. Was this really how you felt? All those times you spent awake at night, tossing and turning, these were the things that kept you up?

It really pissed you off—for it to all come in like a freight train. And your lips were moving without a single pause.

“Why are you even here? We’re enemies.” You inched closer. “You’re the good guys,” A finger jabbed his hard chest. “We’re the bad guys.”

That was the harsh reality of it. It felt shitty you hadn’t noticed earlier. After a breath, your voice leveled out, and your clenched fists relaxed.

“Even if it isn’t up to me, I’m one of them.” It always just seemed as though you were surrounded by a cloak of unidentifiable emotion, building up every time you heard someone in the Family talk about guns, tits, drugs, and blood proudly spilt by their hand. Though, despite the foreboding sense washing over you, your gaze refused to lower, and Wang’s face held an unreadable expression, motionless as you took one step back.

Well? What does he have to say? Nothing? Too pansy to—

“You pass.” He smirked, eyes cast down, a definite harshness lifted from the dark glares he had been sending all morning. You blinked.

“What?”

“You pass,” He repeated, a large hand coming down to pat your shoulder like you did something good and like—you know—you didn’t just bare your teeth at him. He released a short sigh, stretching his shoulders back before turning and making for the foyer. “You’re right for assuming I don’t want to guard you. But at least I know you won’t need my help in getting in someone’s face. You can hold your ground pretty well for a spoiled kid.” He smirked over his shoulder, hand on the doorknob.

You swiveled on your foot, shocked. “What the hell?”

“I don’t guard inside your room until night hours, so I’ll be in the hall if you want to bother me any time before then.” He ignored what you wanted to say and departed without another word, leaving you to go through at least eight shades of shock and anger before mutely collapsing on your bed, rage-ridden.

“Must think he’s hot shit. Newsflash bud; nothing reputable comes from putting ‘bodyguard of a nobody’ on your resume”

You closed your eyes, a heavy sigh flowing from your lips. He got you, though. Whatever good that did for him, it sure as hell was unnecessary and… childish. That glint in his eyes was very childish too. One thing for sure; he wasn’t the typical body guard from the action movies.

You realized you still had a lot to learn about Jackson Wang.

* * *

“I can’t believe Jimin put me up for this job. He must be getting some serious pay from this family.”

“The L/Ns? You realize if it’s leaked that you’re guarding the biggest mob boss’s daughter in the district, the entire agency will be a goner, right? We’re not even supposed to be messing around with the higher ups… why would Jimin take this one?”

Jackson examined a scuff on his shoe, thinking over the options. The man on the other line waited patiently, he too searching for possible reasons. It really didn’t make sense.

“I dunno, Bam.” He sighed into the receiver, his partner probably scratching his head on his end. “I know Jimin won’t say much if I ask him. Like he’s sworn to secrecy with the big guy here. All I heard was he’s returning a favor the agency owes the Family from the last war. Christ knows what that was.” He rubbed his eyes and leaned against the wall in the corridor.

“And the girl? How is she?” Jackson eyed the door across from him, adjusting the ring on his finger.

“Stubborn as all hell. But she’s witty. Got a mouth on her. She’ll do fine in a verbal stand-off. Even went as far as insulting my blond.” BamBam cackled on the other end, the sound of his knee being slapped causing Jackson to narrow his eyes and crack a knuckle.

“And what about her looks?”

“Fine, I guess. Kind of careless with apparel, though… She’s your age, but she’s got the soul of someone who’s been trapped in a house their entire life. She probably hasn’t experienced much of anything. Spoiled and a spitfire, yeah, but I wouldn’t want to live like that either.” Jackson clicked his tongue, glancing to where a maid was pushing a cart down the hall.

“Hmm… I’ll have to see for myself then. This is the first assignment we haven’t been partners for in a year. And you’re the one who gets to watch an inexperienced girl…” Jackson chuckled. Truthfully, he’d rather be on leave like BamBam. As lame as it sounded, recovering from a bullet wound to the shoulder while stuck in the offices had to be better than what he was doing.

“Inexperienced is boring.”

“Inexperienced means there’s a lot more to experience. Don’t forget what you’re privileged with… Hey, Jimin just got back. I gotta run. Keep me posted, and don’t miss me too much.”

“Yeah, of course, Bam.”

The friends hung up, and Jackson returned his cell to his pocket, whistling lowly as he scanned the hall. It’d probably be best he actually do his job now. Truth be told, Jackson Wang was first sworn into service as a bodyguard for government officials. When he had a few years under his belt, ranking up at a remarkable pace, he was stationed outside of the district to defend against radical groups and insurgents with grudges against the agency. There were almost too many, and that’s how he met BamBam. 

They worked field missions, tracking down and taking out terrorist groups before they could attack. Those bastards always looked to take over, so long as it meant they had to chance to soak in riches. As long as wealth matriculated the way it did, it was never a safe world. Anyways, Jackson’s tracking skills and Bam’s clever offensive strategies made them well recognized in the agency.

Then BamBam was shot, the first time either had to take injury leave in years, and Jackson was suddenly pulled from field work and back to his work in personal security. Except, this time, it was not a government official he was guarding, but… well… you know the rest.

He was angry when he found out who it was, but he knew not to question Jimin’s decision. Been there, done that; never again. The things that man is capable of. So he decided he’d tolerate the job, like he’d tolerate the girl. She was just three years younger, but they were so incredibly different, it was like witnessing another generation before his eyes.

He told himself to ignore her most of the time, for he knew she’d probably be too snooty for his worth. The test he enacted out of pure entertainment. But the results did surprise him. Definitely. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so bad, so long as she was capable of holding her own in a world as demanding as the mob business.

Jackson straightened the sleeves of his leather jacket, bringing a hand up to fix the wave of blond hair neatly swept above his forehead. What kind of girl wakes up in the morning, skips breakfast, and then goes straight back to bed before noon? It’d be difficult to adjust to her ways, that much he guaranteed.

Luckily, he had visited the coffee shop he frequented before coming in, set with his croissant and organic tea, so he’d put lunch to the side and patiently wait for the girl to return to the world.

He sighed. Would be a damned boring wait though.

His dark eyes flickered towards where the maid from earlier was approaching. She seemed not to notice him right away, and made for the door leading into Y/N’s room. Jackson eyed her curiously. She was young, with a pretty face and long, black hair, messily wrung into a bun that loosely clung to her head. One of her hands was wrapped around the cart’s handlebar, while the other was tucked away beneath the towels making up its contents. Suspicious.

“Excuse me,” His voice took to a demanding tone, but the girl didn’t seem to hear him. She opened the door, just a crack, but Jackson knew exactly what was going on, and he made his move; he had another test to try out.

As soon as he lunged forward, with the intent of startling her, the girl had whipped around, revealing a glock that was hidden amidst the white cotton. She let out a deranged battle cry, her charcoal eyes glinting with a thirst for bloodshed, a look Jackson knew all too well. But his experience gave him the upper hand, and ducked under the gun, tackling her into the doorway. 

They tumbled through, Jackson ignoring the alarmed yelp across the room. He pinned the ‘maid’, moving to disarm her. That’d been too easy a take down. But the woman had another idea; she pulled her skirt up and tore a butterfly blade from her thigh holster, switching it open single-handedly and slicing the pant leg of the man above her.

“Shit!” It surprised him more so than it actually hurt him, but he leapt to his feet, dodging her rapid swipes for his chest. Enough of this, if he kept beating around the bush, he’d let the woman injure himself and the girl he was guarding. He had a job to do. It’s what he was hired for, right?

Jackson whipped the concealed black beretta from his jeans and pulled the trigger a single time. And that was all it took; the woman fell limp and motionless, and the room went silent.

* * *

It had been an hour since you were kicked out of your own bedroom. In the meantime, you watched as the Family doctor and many of the members who shared the same hall gathered around the scene. You only caught drifts of what was being said, but the unsightly looks of fear and anger were plastered to your Family’s faces.

Your father had already been contacted, though Junior was said to have been on his way in the old man’s place. Jackson stood wordlessly next to you, arms crossed.

“Aren’t you afraid?” He suddenly asked, peering down at you from the side. You wanted to scoff, but looked ahead instead.

“Believe it or not, but I’m used to seeing corpses.”

You saw shock pass over Wang’s features, but Junior caught your attention from down the hall, a steady, professional pace leading him towards you.

“You alright?” There was never any sincerity with Junior, but in all your years of knowing him, you knew he meant well. You nodded, and watched him glance towards Jackson. He wanted information. Something probably along the lines of why he’d shot a maid and was not being apprehended for it. But there was a proper explanation, no worries.

“I was suspicious at first because of the way she looked. She looked too young to be a maid. But she also had a muscular physique. Thighs, calves, triceps, etc. Not like what I have,” You scoffed for real this time, “but more than any other maid in this mansion has. She also held herself in an offensive stance.” Junior took Jackson’s side, observing as the doc ordered your cousins and other Family members to back off. The agent continued.

“I couldn’t pull a gun based off that knowledge. So I tested her reaction to me jumping at her. Then she pulled a gun. And you see what happened from there.”

Junior didn’t respond, but eyed him for a moment. Then, he looked your way, gesturing towards the body with his head.

You nodded, moving forward, leading the two men. You pushed your way through the Family members, all of which you knew by name but were hardly close to. When you were near enough, Junior and Jackson shadowing you, you questioned, “Any Tag on her, Doc?”, and the old Mobman looked up from the girl. There was a brief flash in his eyes, almost like sympathy. So he’d pieced it together already, huh? You signaled for him to explain.

“Yes, she’s Tagged alright.” He pulled the neckline of her uniform down just enough to expose the black ink of a symbol. “But this isn’t a family we want to be messing with.”

“Shit,” You cursed.

“The Mins.” Junior stated above you. You exhaled sharply, damn, that’s no good.

The Mins have been around nearly as long as the L/Ns. They were strongest aside from your Family, hands down. Strongest, most vile, vigorous, grudge-bearing, etc. They were the last family yours went to war with.

It was before your time, but even you knew what they were capable of, and sending a Baddie in disguise after you meant something was seriously up. You had to get to the bottom of this, or, you had a feeling any one of the L/Ns would end up like that woman.

Later, when your father had returned to the mansion, the Family was ordered to the dining hall. It was nearing four o’ clock, and the table was a bustle of questions and chatter on all sides. You were silent, puzzled, twiddling fingers absentmindedly, sat between Jackson and an empty chair. You realized you two hadn’t had much time to talk, but you weren’t sure you wanted to at this point. Maybe you were still mad about his little test earlier.

Your thoughts were interrupted when the empty chair beside you was noisily made full. It was your cousin, the stupid smirk on his face evident as he turned immediately to face you. “Looks like little Y/N is finally having a go with the mafia life.” He teased, winking at you. Jaebum was a few years older than you. He was unofficially your cousin—just titled such because of the Family code—having been a rebellious, parentless thug on the street and taken in to the mansion when he was just thirteen. He was an impressive fighter, confident and cocky, but he could definitely hold his own. A classic, reputable bad boy. He fit in like a charm.

“Lay off, JB. I’m not in the mood.”

“Uh-oh, all it takes is someone trying to kill you to make you angry?” You sent the older Member a snarling glare, feisty like the ones you’ve been throwing around all day. You went to retort, or slap him, which ever came first, but the hall noticeably quieted, and it was with the entry of your father, unsurprisingly trailed by Junior.

The big boss sat all high-and-mighty on his throne at the end of the table, and Junior casually took his place standing beside him.

“I have called you all here today to make clear of certain information,” He began, and your brow raised. “As I’m sure you’ve all made well aware of, there was an incident regarding my daughter and her newly assigned bodyguard a few hours ago. The woman who was in disguise and killed was in possession of a Min Tag.”

The table erupted in a mass of disbelief and anger, the uproar a remarkably expected response to the statement. Yes, this was how well you all knew of the Mins. Jaebum whistled, impressed, next to you. “Now what could you have possibly done to piss off that Family?” That joke was having a field day, wasn’t he?

“I did nothing!” You hissed, grip tightening around the tablecloth. Your father’s booming voice silenced the room instantly, a resounding “settle-down!” that rang dangerously in your ears.

When the dining hall was so silent you could hear the rhythmic tapping of JB’s shoes on the floor, your father took a breath, folding his hands together. A mob boss and a business man are no different when it came to settling things the right way with his employees.

“It is unclear to me why Y/N was targeted, however I am grateful to Mr. Wang for dutifully serving and protecting her from harm. First day on the job had never been such convenient timing.” The old man sent you a pointed look, wordlessly challenging you with a nonverbal ‘I told you so’ kind of thing. Jackson only gave a short nod in acknowledgment, lip tightening at your side.

“As for the rest of you, you’re ordered to be on high alert. You were all trained and have the skillset to defend yourselves, and I highly suggest if another incident were to occur, you properly utilize it. As of today, there will be heightened added security, but there is only so much we can provide. I trust, in the name of the L/Ns, you can settle things the way you know best.” And that would be through violence, in case you’re wondering. That’s how mobmen settle things with Baddies or anyone who wrongs us; we shed their blood.

Your father stood, as though to conclude the meeting, and you were more than ready to leave, but a loud voice at your side caught his and everyone’s attention. “I have one thing to add, if I may.” Special Officer Jackson Wang… ahhh, always knows when to speak.  To your surprise, your father sat back down, a polite and very non-mafia madman look on his face. “Yes, please, Mr. Wang.”

You peered to your left, to where the rest of the Family was looking. You can tell they were also shocked by his bold appearance. His eyes searched all of the table, and then went back to your father.

“It is my belief that Y/N was and will be the only target. And that it will happen again.” There were gasps unanimously bouncing around the hall, between all the highly trained modern mobsters and even aged folks who made killer names for themselves in the 70s. You yourself went wide-eyed with his sudden speculation.

After the hall had quieted down again, you looked to where your father urged the agent to continue, and then back to where he was preparing words to say.

“With my experience in government field-work, I grew accustomed to seeing different types of assailants in radical groups,” he sighed, folding his hands behind his back and looking down. “That woman was strong, clearly far from the standard dame. But she was also clearly not trained as well as the studs who actually get work done.” Jackson looked around the table, probably meeting everyone’s eyes to see if he needed to continue. He did, he really did. You found yourself sweating in your seat, anxiously awaiting the point he was going to make.

“If she had the skills of a real professional, especially from the Min Family, she wouldn’t have carelessly thrashed her knife around.” That’s right—despite being an agent from the government, who generally discerned themselves with the families, they still knew their stuff. 

“And why it was only Y/N she was after…” He continued, your foot jolting after the mention of your name. “She could have gone to any other member of this family—Y/N’s older brothers, sisters, even you, sir. I know she saw me guarding Y/N’s room; she could have simply gone after anyone else. Yet, she still targeted just her.”

“What are you trying to insinuate, Wang?” Your father pegged, curiously leaning in from his seat as you bit your lip, gazing at the man while your knuckles went white with anticipation.

“I’m trying to insinuate, sir,” Jackson breathed out, “that woman was just a ploy. Bait. A warning, even. She was sent by people knowing she’d die because she was a weak link. But she was also a message.” He glanced your way, swallowing thickly.

“A message that it’s only just begun.”


	3. Cabin Fever

“So,” you crossed your legs and pressed your palms into your bedspread. “What now?” He didn’t reply. He never did, and you were certain you had asked exactly twelve times at that point.

You frowned and shifted to your feet, padding across the room to your record player. You knew Wang’s eyes were following you, but the annoyance that filled you because of that had dissipated after a few hours. You had grown accustomed to his sharp gaze trailing you to and fro, because it was his job to keep you safe. And as much as it pissed you off, you really weren’t in the mood for another Min in disguise to attempt to assassinate you anytime soon, so you tolerated his presence.

The most he ever spoke was only the on first day you met him. Now, he seemed to socially distance himself. Day in, day out, he’d stand like a barricade until it was time for him to excuse himself to the bedroom next to yours for the few hours he slept. The officer didn’t actually speak to you unless it was regarding whether or not you’ve eaten. He didn’t answer you a lot of the time, so you were left pestering him until he spat a sly remark and you’d angrily avoid him in another corner of the spacious bedroom. Which didn’t do much justice on either end, by the way.

It was horribly boring being under constant house arrest, and it had only been four days. You weren’t even sure how long your father was planning to keep it up; maybe you’d eventually forget what the outside world looked like and would finally develop a split personality disorder. Perhaps whoever that person may have been would have entertained you far more than the man guarding your bed room door. You really did feel like you were going bonkers, though.

You flipped through some records and decided on some classic rock, carefully sliding the aged disc into place and adjusting the volume. A chorus of sweet, succulent electric chords ripped through the air, and you swiveled on your feet, side-glancing Jackson, then crossing over to your library with a gentle, rhythmic sway of your hips. You hummed quietly in tune, fingering the spines of the books you’ve read cover to cover time and time again.

“Hmm…Hmmmhmmm…”

You briefly wondered if Jackson was a fan of rock—or any music, at all.

“Hey Wang,” You tossed over your shoulder before turning back to the collection of old and new texts. He didn’t answer, but you knew he heard you. You shrugged inwardly, quirking a lip before pulling a hard cover by its spine. “You like music?” No response, the vocals of the record growing mute too.

The buzz of the electric and the hum of the bass died down as the song hit a break, and your fingers clenched around the nameless novel.

“You like… anything?” Nothing. He was listening to you and you knew it. You bit the inside of your cheek, heaving a heavy sigh.

Something overtook you, and you half-pondered if the final straw had been struck. There were hot tears boiling in your eyes, and they were so close to falling, and you had no idea why.

“Do you even have feelings?” Your voice cracked, and before he would have even had the chance to reply—the bastard wouldn’t have either way—you whipped around and let the book soar from your palm, colliding with the wall next to his head. There was a crash, and your record player had finished the track, timely scratching and growing quiet as your cheeks grew wet. Huh. He didn’t even flinch.

No emotion, just a stone-like gaze, and maybe a tightened lip, but you stomped on up to him and rose a fist. Easily, he caught your balled hand, and then the other as you tried again. You cried out, vision blurry.

The record player kept skipping a place on the poorly spinning platter, and you fought his immense strength with your trivial power, barely beating against his chest for nearly ten seconds before he actually made any real move to still you entirely. He brought your fists to the center of your back, his torso meeting yours, and Jackson urged you to back-peddle until you had collapsed onto your bed.

He caught himself above you, feet still planted sturdy on the ground, though body bending over so he could hold you still, you who kicked at him and struggled and cried like a maniac. “Why… I didn’t fucking ask for this! I didn’t fucking deserve this!” His features were dry though his eyes were hard, peering down to you with an intensity he had not ever before displayed. But you didn’t notice.

“I didn’t ask to have this life! I never wanted this! Now I’m stuck with you for fuck knows how long, someone who doesn’t even know how to be a goddamn human!” You tried butting his head with your own, but he moved out of the way, somehow still managing to hold you in place. Whether it was because he was actually that capable of controlling you, or you had just grown weak and weary, you weren’t sure, but you didn’t give a shit either.

“You could so easily be free and alive but you waste your time trying to push away emotions I wish I had the privilege to express. Why? Does that make you tougher? Does it fucking make you a better man?” Words were pouring from your lips and you didn’t even care if they truly made sense or not. It seemed so out of character for you, so strange, like it was a complete different being throwing a temper tantrum in your own body.

Your tears were soaked into the bedspread, your hair whipping around as you gave a few final thrashes in attempt to free yourself, to no avail. Jackson wordlessly watched you as you calmed down, pants leaving your lips and fanning against his cheeks.

Then you were staring into his eyes, his inhuman eyes you know have seen a lot, and he was staring into yours, those that were younger and could only imagine what lay further outside the mansion than the city slowly turning into a foggy memory.

The record player stopped long ago, and your breathing settled, even if your heart was still frantic with adrenaline. His face was so goddamn handsome, his features somewhat soft and sharp all at the same time, though with no genuine feeling expressed with them. It took a few moments for you to realize his grip around your hands had loosened.

At first, you tested it out, to see if he’d react and immediately hold you down again if you made any sudden movements. But he seemed to have believed your outburst had extinguished, as when you pulled a hand freely to your chest, he made no move to restrain you. You gulped, and, instead of shoving him away, like you knew you wanted to, you were too distraught to do anything consciously sane, so you brought the underside of your palm to his stomach, and he flinched.

You ran your hand up the expanse of his muscular torso, dipping with his collarbone, and then trailing even further until you were cupping his cheek, a look of wonder curiously morphing your features. No reaction, none other than that initial twitch. He lips were still a straight, tight line. His eyes were still calculating and boringly sharp. His Adams apple didn’t bob with any sort of struggling thought. Your fingers lightly tapped against his cheekbone, some soft, inaudible melody. “You’re not a real human.”

A final tear released itself, rolling shamefully down and nestling into the curve of your jawline. What did you want? What did you want to gain from this? Why were you so torn?

Jackson gently pried your hand from his face, and you let him grasp it beside your head. He must have had something to say. He should have. But no. He didn’t even look like he wanted to speak his mind, if there really was anything on it at all. He silently pulled away from you, standing out of your line of vision so you could only burn holes into the ceiling now.

He walked back across the room.

He picked up the book you had thrown.

He replaced it.

He returned to the door.

He resumed position as he had before the ordeal.

His eyes were no longer focused on you.

* * *

**Somewhere else in the district…**

* * *

“…We can only assume she was killed, sir. May I ask what your next move will be?”

“You may ask. But it won’t do you any good. I don’t really care to answer.” A deep voice, sounding lax despite the context of his words. The one who answered drummed his fingertips against the railing overlooking the mansion grounds, dismissing the sideman with a single nod towards the balcony doors.

He was left alone, then, the mid-afternoon sun being obscured by clouds. After a few minutes, he turned on his heel, his finely fashioned suit becoming uncomfortable in the humid air. He planned on napping for the rest of the day, his previous evening being long endured, but before he entered his sleeping quarters, he paused. Suddenly changing his mind, the young man turned down another hall.

The maids bowed to him as he passed, the Family Members giving him some small acknowledgment before carrying on. The young man then stopped before a massive door. Massive, and all too familiar.

His face held no expression, nothing more than lazy eyes boring straight into the carved, wooden frame. He opened the door and entered quietly, closing it behind him before stepping to the center of the room. A series of beeps filled his ears, the sight before him little to no surprise, and he moved silently to the bedside, the room that was once the chamber belonging to the dying man no more than a future tomb now.

His father’s lungs sounded externally, the tubes connected to a wearily contracting mechanism that had a slight whistle with every inhale. The young man peered at the monitor that displayed drowsy numerals, faintly recalling the time spent in his father’s bedroom before the mob boss was on his death bed. And the old man himself already looked the part; his eyes were open just a fraction, but he was not even remotely conscious. He had not been for a long time.

His body was wiry and loose with skin that sluggishly clung to brittle bones, hair equally silver and white and thinning to the point it would fall out with so much as a simple adjustment of the pillow beneath his head. The young man looked over his father, half tempted to grasp his palm and urge a recovery that was incredibly unlikely. He no longer felt desperate. Or sad, rather. It wasn’t so much the idea of the passing of his father that made him anxious, but the aftermath it would bring, the responsibility he’d be laced with so suddenly. He was unprepared. Or at least, he was at first.

Now, he gazed down at his father with nothing in his eyes, because he had already figured it all out. He loved his father. But nothing would stop his coming death. And the young man knew what was to be done after. He left the room wordlessly, but he could hear the monitors give one long last beep all the way down the hall.

“I will take back what was stolen, Father.”

* * *

Jackson sighed after he excused himself outside the room. Night fell and he left without a word, the girl having curled beneath her covers and remaining still the past few hours. He didn’t relax until he knew she couldn’t see him, but with her back facing him, he wasn’t sure she was even paying attention.

The event occurring earlier that day was probably one of the least expected things he could have imagined, even more unexpected than if the mansion was ambushed by Mins. Jackson didn’t know how to react. She saw right through him; the way he pushed aside emotions and prioritized his job, though he’d never actually believed it would make him any less a human. And that idea would have never bothered him, but with the way she said it…

The blonde closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, startled when Junior’s voice sounded nearly just feet away. “You seem troubled.” Jackson looked down the hall, noting they were the only two in the corridor, and then crossed his arms over his chest.

“You seem too quiet to be just a right hand man.” Junior’s lip twitched, and he stood beside the bodyguard. The two were silent for a few moments before he spoke up. 

“I know you’re hiding yourself from her. Every time you leave the room, you become a different person.” The blonde tilted his head slightly in question, peering at the other man. Junior only shrugged. “I do it too. It’s safe not to get too close to anyone in this Family. You never know what could happen.” Jackson released a soft chuckle, one hand smoothing out his black shirt.

“I’m used to keeping my distance. It helps in my line of work.”

“My line as well. You’re not the only one looking after her.”

“You seem to care about her more than you let on.” The mobman didn’t say anything in return right away, but Jackson saw the small nod.

“Maybe I do. It’d be a mess if she knew about that though. She doesn’t need to be attached to anyone who has a high chance of getting their head blown off on a daily basis.” Jackson nodded, agreeing.

The girl had unique interests—and it could have been because she was holed up every day in a mafia house—but he knew if it wasn’t his job to guard her, he’d have crossed more than a few lines in their relationship. He hated to admit it, but she intrigued him, more than he decided was safe. He was always watching, not precisely because it was his job—and in no way intendedly creepy—but because she did things unlike any woman he’s seen before.

He’s seen a fair share of women, too.

Whether it was the way she color-coordinated her bookshelf instead of by author name, or the way she’d stick her head out the window to feed the birds visiting her window sill, she knew he was there, but didn’t let that stop her from being her usual self. Usually women tried to impress him when they knew he was looking. But Y/N… she was naturally fascinating to the eye.

He was partially conflicted with her behavior that day, though. He felt… almost guilty. And something else he couldn’t quite put a finger on. He pondered it silently, then Junior shifted beside him.

“She needs to leave for a bit.” 

Jackson, surprised, turned to face the other man. Junior put a hand against the frame of the door, eyeing the blank surface. Then, he looked back at the blonde. “Today was the first time she acted out like that. I’m sorry you had to witness it.”

“You know about that?”

“You’re not the only one looking after her, remember?” He repeated. “I happened to be passing by.” Jackson nodded, but he was astonished; it was impeccable timing for him to have just been passing by. And as much as Junior sided with the Boss, he could only admit the big man was to blame for all of it. Y/N was able to go outside before everything happened. Seeing as she couldn’t even do that much any longer, he didn’t blame her for feeling the way she did. “Take her out.”

“What?” The bodyguard went wide-eyed, wondering if he’d heard correctly.

“Take her out,” Junior said again, hands folded behind his back. “Her father is away for the evening, and he won’t be back until late. Be back before eleven.” The blonde was thinking of something to say, but his mind was bombarded with confusion. Why the sudden freedom? It definitely went against the rules the mob boss had set in stone, and as Junior turned his back and began walking down the corridor, he tried calling out to him, though the Mobman beat him to it. “I trust you’ll keep her safe.”

He didn’t turn or stop to say it, but his steady voice was laced with something else. And after a brief pause, he said something close to a mutter that Jackson barely heard. “She deserves that much.”

* * *

You peered out the window of the car, rethinking everything that happened the past half hour. Officer Wang had approached you, while you were in bed, and asked if you wanted to leave. Immediately, you decided there was no better time to agree with him, but then, it confused you. He hadn’t explained yet why you were leaving so suddenly, because at the time, it didn’t matter. You just wanted to leave. “Does my dad know we’re gone?”

“No.”

A flash of worry filled you and you turned to face Jackson, his eyes blankly gauging the road. He peered at you, as if sensing your gaze, and said, “Junior said he’d handle it. These were his orders. Don’t worry.”

It seemed nice to hear his voice, even if the tone was authoritative; it was strangely calming to hear something other than your own thoughts, and occasionally, the chef’s question of how you liked your meat cooked. You figured he was taking you out because of the fit you threw that afternoon, and you felt guilty about it. It seemed so stupid. You wanted to apologize.

“We’re here.” He stated, pulling you from your thoughts. He switched the key from the ignition before you even realized you had parked. Your gaze drifted towards the windshield, and you discovered you had arrived at a café. You don’t think you ever stepped foot into a café before. Excitement bubbled within you, but you remained calm and collected, removing your seat belt with necessary haste and joining the bodyguard outside of his vehicle.

“Stay close.” He said quietly, and you looked around the empty strip of a parking lot. Right; people residing somewhere in the world were still out to get you.

You followed him in, the warm and sweet smell of pastries masking the muggy 9 o’clock air that disappeared behind you. It was like love at first sight; the place was nearly empty, but it was so inviting and cozy, you briefly considered packing a suitcase for an extended stay next time around; the soft lighting absorbed any features that could have made the place stoic, empty booths lined up against walls with a cream colored theme. Edison bulbs strung from pillars on either end of an open bar counter, a gentle glow radiating above the dark marble surface, with cushioned stools on one side you only assumed was for patron seating.

“Jackson, hey!” Oooh, that voice was inviting too. Your head turned to see a barista waving to the officer like they were old friends. And they probably were. “Mark,” He greeted with a rare upturned lip. The so-called Mark came around the counter, hands wiping against his chocolate brown apron as he met your eye. “Who’s this?” He questioned, and you felt your cheeks grow warm.

Jackson didn’t look your way to answer, instead shuffling towards the little bar area and signaling you to sit. “My new job. Y/N.” Mark nodded, a knowing ‘oh’ sounding from his lips. He smiled your way.

“Welcome to the shop Y/N. I know Jackson can be a bit of a hard ass at times, but he’s a regular here, and we always welcome his company.” You stifled a giggle, the idea of the no-nonsense officer frequenting that sort of establishment being kind of absurd. You definitely hadn’t expected it. Jackson threw a sharp glare at Mark, but the guy just brushed it off, like he was used to it. “Want the Wang original?” The blonde only nodded, and you gave him a questioning look, finding it hard to find a voice suddenly.  He shrugged a fraction, “It’s just organic.”

This time you let your laugh be heard, Mark looking over his shoulder with an almost angelic grin as he prepared the drink. Jackson, on the other hand, scowled.

“It’s organic and the only thing he’ll actually drink here.” Another voice called, and you whipped around in your chair to see a new face appearing from a back room. He was tall and sported an apron like Mark’s, though his had streaks of white powder smeared on it. “Yugyeom, hey, get Y/N a menu.” Mark called out, and you shook your head.

“Oh, no it’s okay, really—”

“Nonsense. This is your first visit. You have to get something.” Yugyeom was much more attractive with every step he took, and you blessed whatever god was above for surrounding you with good looking guys. You didn’t want to argue, despite your mind claiming you didn’t really want anything—okay, maybe a taste of Mark or Yugyeom, but that wasn’t exactly on the menu.

“Just get a croissant. Yugyeom bakes them himself.” Jackson muttered next to you, eyes trained on the liquid Mark was pouring into a large mug. You quirked a lip, scanning the menu the confectioner had placed before you. Maybe the croissant was a good idea. “Okay. I’ll get one.” You didn’t miss the smile Yugyeom sent your way, your heart skipping a beat.

Oh how lucky you were feeling. You wished you had at least touched up on your looks. Wearing pajamas out suddenly didn’t feel so appealing.

Yugyeom disappeared to dig into a display case, one your eyes glazed over with upon seeing, and you watched him reach a hand in before Mark was asking what you wanted to drink. 

“Ice tea?”

“Anything for the pretty lady.” You blushed hotly, feeling awkward in your seat, but Jackson scoffed beside you, and the feeling was quickly replaced with annoyance. Before you could retort, though, Yugyeom had set a plate with a doughy pastry down in front of you, the scent almost intoxicating. It took your attention, and you were captivated by the flaky, gold crescent. Mark came around and placed a full glass of blended, aromatic liquid next to the plate, winking your way.

God, what did you do, die suddenly and travel to heaven?

You took a hesitate bite and a delicate sip, the flavors so immense it brought tears to your eyes. You forgot how food tasted outside of the mansion. “Whoa, Yugie. You made her cry.” Mark playfully hit his coworker with a handtowel, who, in turn, defensively held his hands up. “Hey—I don’t mean to make them so delicious. It just happens.” You laughed, after swallowing completely.

“Excuse my language but this is fucking amazing.” You probably didn’t need to include the disclaimer, but you were really feeling a certain way. “Oooh,” Mark cooed, elbows resting on the counter before you. “I like this one.” Jackson shoved him away and you found yourself grinning widely.

The rest of the time was spent making small talk with the guys. Jackson didn’t say much, but every so often someone would make a joke, and you caught him smiling. It was a beautiful sight. But you didn’t stay as long as you hoped, and the next thing you knew, you were waving a sad goodbye and trailing after the blonde towards the exit. “Thanks guys,” Jackson called out.

Mark and Yugyeom stood next to one another, grinning after the two of you. “Next time won’t be on the house.” Mark voiced, then Yugyeom countered, “Just not for him.” And you were still giggling as the door closed behind you, the outside air resonating with a pleasant silence.

“We should be back before your dad gets to the mansion. Junior already cleared it with the Members at the gate. There shouldn’t be any problems.” You nodded after him, settling into the unmarked BMW. You buckled up, a wave of drowsiness passing over you as you watched him start up the car and put it in reverse. A thought crossed your mind.

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t be. That’s what happens when your’re suddenly holed up for days. It was only a matter of time.”

“But still. I acted out. Like a crazy person. I shouldn’t have said all that.” He put his foot on the brake, shifting gears, though staying in place for a few seconds.

“You should have. You did. I’m glad you did.” He faced you. “I want you feel comfortable under my watch. Now I know how to change so it’s easier for you to cope with having someone around almost all hours of the day.” Your chest felt warm with his words, and you didn’t say anything. You didn’t know what to say.

Later on, your head had fallen against the window, and you were nearly asleep, but you whispered, “thank you”, somewhat hoping he’d heard it. And after some time, there was his voice, soft, possibly just your imagination in your delirious state, but whether or not that was the case, the words resonated in your mind shortly before you dozed off. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

The young man fought sleep another night, finding it harder and harder to remain concentrated with every tick of the grandfather clock. His desk was an array of documents that varied between police reports from the twenties and closed Family records from later on. He slid a palm down the side of his face, shoving another packet to the side. That moment, the door to the office space opened, and in walked two Members who looked more than alive in the late evening. The young man grew envious.

“Boss,” one of them greeted, and they stood side-by-side before him. The so-called “boss” sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“As much as I enjoy that title, save it for after my father’s funeral, Namjoon.” The tall one folded his arms over his chest, shifting on his feet with a crooked grin.

“Right, my mistake… Yoongi… What an honor it is to still be so personal, isn’t it Tae?” The one next to him had a hyena smile, cackling lightly.  
“What are life-long friends for?” Yoongi softly shook his head, fingers tracing his temple. He wondered how he’d put up with them for so long.

Namjoon crossed over to the side of the room, lounging in a loveseat while Tae sat opposite on a foot stool. “You summoned us, your majesty?” The fresh mob boss rose to his feet, fingers lacing behind his back. He took lazy steps to stand in front of a wall with newspaper clippings he’d collected in the past years, a hand coming up to mindlessly fold back a posted page as he mulled over words to say.

“I have a task for you. The both of you.” He stated, finally. Namjoon and Taehyung looked to each other, wolfish grins spreading across their features, and then turned back to the young man, silently urging him to continue. Yoongi unpinned one of the articles, aged some years, and brought it to his eye level. He didn’t need to read it over entirely; he had countless times before.

 _‘L/Ns Claim Victory in Sudden Outbreak of War_ ’ bolded, and seeming not a day old in his palm. The clipping featured an old print of a photograph, the image black and displaying a level of destruction that occurred before he could remember. He crumpled the paper mercilessly, crushing it into a tight ball and earning a low whistle from one of his sidemen. After a moment, he looked up, trained on the rest of the articles.

His eyes darkened.

“Help me reclaim the Min name.”


	4. Bonding

It was obvious Jackson had heeded your complaints. He spoke more often, about your interests, how you were raised, about the family, etc. It was plain small talk, but the effort he made warmed your heart. You felt bad for all the things you said to him, and even though he mentioned not to worry about it, you still felt guilty. Clearly, he was capable of more than you believed. Perhaps his existence was more tolerable than before.

You folded your arms over the window sill of your bedroom, blowing a tendril of hair out of your eyes. It was well over a week into house arrest, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been before. You were patiently waiting for the sun to dip behind the horizon, because Jackson had planned to take you out for the night again. And when the orange ball was no more than a canvas of purple and pink streaks, you swiveled and crossed the floor with a bounce in your step, a knowing smile on your face as you met his eyes.

“It’s time.”

He didn’t say anything, but you caught the small upturn of his lip when he checked his watch and nodded.

You watched the rain patter against the car window, the slight drizzle and chill causing bumps to rise on your arms. Jackson remained wordless, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore, because you knew if you were to say anything, he would respond.

You hummed a nameless tune until you pulled up to the familiar building. Its warm orange lights seeped out into the darkness, like a welcoming summon. Jackson pulled the keys from the ignition, glancing at you briefly before turning around in his seat to retrieve an umbrella from the back. You looked out your window again, an eyebrow raised. “We don’t need that.”

You saw him falter in his movement, his face unreadable, and he dropped it suddenly. “I was hoping you’d say that,” You smiled his way, and then, with haste, opened the door and bounded towards the entrance, raindrops dancing along your exposed skin and hair. Jackson was quick behind you—he didn’t like when you were off by yourself—and you held the door open for him, your eyes catching a glimpse of another car pulling in the lot in the distance.

“Look who’s back already!”

“Oh. And wet.” Jackson released a heavy sigh. “Stay here and I’ll grab you guys some towels.” You smiled wryly, Yugyeom ignoring Jackson’s protests as he disappeared into the back. Mark was cleaning out some parfait glasses on the counter, and your eyes traced over the cherry-filled dessert he must have been working on before you entered. It looked unrealistically delicious. He caught your glance and paused, a cheeky smile working its way onto his lips as you sat down on the bar stool. Jackson joined you, curious of the wordless exchange, and observed as Mark turned and swiftly carried the whipped treat before you.

“Wait, there’s no need—”

“Please, try it. On the house.” It took a few more moments for him to finally convince you to take a bite, and it did far more than meet your expectations, Yugyeom returning as you released an audible gasp after a mere spoonful.

There’s no way you couldn’t finish it. You had to, elsewise you would regret not doing so later on.

Jackson ordered his usual with unenthusiastic charm, peering your way from time to time as he made small talk with the guys. He must have received the towels from Yugyeom, as he placed one around your shoulders, but you didn’t notice right away. The creamy dessert was little more than a puddle of whipped cream at the bottom of the glass in just minutes, and you joyfully cleaned your spoon, eyes closed in a euphoric haze.

Then, you felt gentle pressure at the corner of your lips, and you, startled, flinched in your seat.

Mark’s finger was still there when you opened your eyes. He had a small, possibly mischievous grin, his eyes slanted as the pad of his index swiped away a minuscule amount of whipped cream. Jackson ended up smacking his hand away, and you were flushed by the time Mark and Yugyeom were laughing, trying to ignore that he brought his finger to his own lips when he turned his back to you.

Jackson was uttering obscenities under his breath, and you were too dazed to tune in. Instead, you cleared your throat, leaning back in the high stool to stretch. But then, of all times it could possibly occur, you were wincing, and you hunched forward. “Damn it… not now…”

Your abdomen went through bursts of searing pain, some of which would have actually passed a lot more tolerably had you been lying down. You sincerely didn’t want to cause a scene, a ruckus, so you quietly excused yourself to the restroom, not meeting Jackson’s eye since he was turned away from you in the first place.

It took a few minutes, the sharp, merciless peak of it slowly passing, and you stood from your crouched position in the quaint room, a heavy exhale leaving your lips.

When you opened the door, you weren’t alone in the hall; Agent Wang had been supporting himself against a wall, and you wondered how long he’d been waiting—as if there was anything better for him to do.

He brought up his hand, a small plastic bag of ice dangling from his fingertips. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Ever the keen eye sight, Agent.”

He didn’t say anything more, approaching you. You wondered what he planned on doing, and when he gestured for you to go back through the door, you were more than curious.

The enclosed space may have been awkward for anyone else—lucky for you, you two spent enough alone time together it was almost questioning. Just a bodyguard and his living, breathing job.

“Take off your jacket,” You quirked a lip, obeying, though your mind was going places, and where it traveled made you want to laugh. How ridiculous and unlikely.

When your jacket was piled onto the floor, Jackson pried some paper towels from a dispenser, wrapping the ice pack presumably retained by the pastry chefs.

“I never thought to ice it.”

“It probably won’t do anything.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” You smiled softly and he turned towards you. He offered the pack and watched you lift your shirt until it exposed the scarred area, his hard eyes set on the flesh. You thought of what could have been going on in his mind, eventually shrugging. “Probably not much, anyway.”

As the ice did whatever justice it would provide, a subtle hiss sounding from your lips, the chill instantly cooled the area like it had been burned just beforehand. It was held there for a bit, then you turned around to retrieve your discarded jacket, the back neckline of your shirt dipping as you stood.

“That’s your Tag?”

He was referring to the black ink painted along the narrow part of your spine, draped abstractedly like a curved curtain between shoulder blades. You nodded.

“You ever see a L/N Tag?” He shook his head when you looked back. You didn’t blame him. While other Families wore theirs exposed for the most part, yours was known for being a bit more discrete. All the more professional, you’d say.

You brought the tag of the loosely clinging shirt further down with your free hand. You didn’t care to explain it; of course the hard noir of the compass and snake and various small star components all had deep meaning, dating back to the Family’s establishment way back when. But you didn’t feel like mentioning all that. It was getting easier to stray from Family talk with him, and you weren’t in the mood to give a history lesson anyway.

“When did you get it?” He settled on asking, earning a small hmph from you after you readjusted the shirt. “I was five.” He didn’t respond.

The blond left a few minutes before you dumped the bag of water into the sink, and you joined him back at the counter, just in time for him to announce your departure.

Saying goodbye to Mark and Yugyeom was harder than you expected, you had a slight feeling it’d be a while before you saw them again, and you hid your face as they made not-so-subtle comments on how long the two of you had been gone.

The rain was only a mist when you exited, a slight feeling of dismay washing over you like a blanket of fog. Jackson nodded for you to get in, starting up the vehicle as though he was concerned you wouldn’t make it in time, despite having just under an hour left until you were due back to the mansion.

Streetlights illuminated the empty streets, dim glows against the dark of the night. You recounted all the conversations you’d had with your bodyguard in the past week and a half, something you found yourself doing in the freest of free time you had, and it suddenly occurred to you how little he spoke of his own interests, life, and family.

You wanted to question it. You did, truly. To hell with overstepping boundaries, you did that on a daily. But your eyes met the side mirror and your mouth snapped shut.

“Wang, we’re being followed.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought it would be best to avoid the confrontation I know you’re hoping on.” Damn. He figured you out. That thrill seeker within you never failed to seek.

“Then try to lose them if you’re too much of a puss.” Your taunt only earned a vein to pop in his neck. His eyes flickered between the road ahead and the rear view mirror. Could have been Mins. Could have been anyone.

“How’d you know?” He asked, and you bit your lip, eyeing the black cruiser that was a few car-lengths on your trail.

“They have been tailing us the last three miles. Pulled in after us at the café. How about you?”

“Same thing. It was a given when no one walked in. No one just parks at that place and doesn’t go in.” You wanted to laugh, but you also felt it necessary to worry a tiny bit. Maybe that car wasn’t alone. Perhaps if they were smart enough, they wanted you to know they were there, so you’d think you were going to lose them but end up right where they wanted you. Definitely a Min kind of thing, if it was them.

“Hang on.” You had hardly any time to, since you were lurching to the right at the sudden turn. Jackson sped up, the rev of the engine echoing in the night. The vehicle spun around and crossed into the other lane, soaring past the mysterious cruiser so fast, you only caught a glimpse of two shadows beyond the tinted windows. Jackson took another turn, into a series of connected alleyways, easing through the maze like he studied the damn city map. It was like a game of cat and mouse, and soon enough, you caught on. “Nice one, Wang.” He didn’t respond, but instead, took another sharp turn, luring the other vehicle into its own demise.

The roles reversed, and you could almost see the sweating of the passengers within the other car, placed creatively, facing head to head in a narrow alleyway.  They were cornered, the opening where they entered requiring at least a three point maneuver to turn back out of. And that would cause for a lengthy escape.

Jackson then warned you to stay in the car. He drew his glock from the back of his pants, kicking the door open and using it as a shield as he aimed.

“Exit the car, unarmed, hands in the air.” The demand was calm, as expected, but booming. You watched on with generous anticipation as the occupants of the other vehicle remained motionless for several moments.

Then, with a burst of impatience, you reached over and fired up the fog lights, a tactic that only brightened up the brick building walls and further intimidated the other driver and passenger.

Finally, both doors opened, slowly, carefully, and you figured there was no way they were Mins. Or any Members of any Family, really.

The two men were tall and obviously bearing sturdy statures. But they also looked young; not young as in just a teenager, but around your age, one possibly just a few years older than the other. Of course, it was hard to determine from the distance.

“What the fuck?” Jackson breathed out, suddenly, his gun lowering as he stared on in disbelief. You identified his response to be recognition, and your eyes went back to the two who approached the BMW with hesitation. You were right about your earlier analysis; one was definitely older than the other, both donning similar black jackets. You spotted the same logo Director Park had attached to his suit when he dropped by, pinned to the hearts of their jackets, and it only made you more confused. The blonde agent went around the door, concealing his weapon again, and met them halfway; so they were safe enough to waltz on up to, huh?

“What the hell are you guys doing here? Why were you following us?”

One of them began talking, and you strained to hear. Fuck it; you quietly opened the door, inching out and towards the trio.

“…Was all Jimin wanted us to do. Sorry man, it wasn’t up to us.”

You watched Jackson heave an exasperated sigh of what could have been disbelief. Or anger. His jaw moved back like he was biting his tongue, his fists clenched at his sides. Definitely anger. When he shifted on his feet, the taller one looked past him and met your eyes directly. He looked shocked, his lips parting as he nearly took a step back, hand going for his hip.

“Jin, chill out.” Jackson warned, like his anger was put to the side as soon as the guy made a move for his holstered gun. Jin halted, eyes darting between yours and the bodyguard’s, and you took your que to stride up to the party, barely set off by the fact he almost pulled a gun on you. Was your presence that threatening?

“Who are they?” You asked, eyeing the younger one. His lips had a natural pout to them, and while his eyes were dark and glossy, you could tell he probably wasn’t as big a man as his partner. Jackson glanced your way briefly, you could see the vein popping in his temple, and he stepped one foot in front of you for precaution.

“Jin. Jungkook. They’re part of the agency.” The way he said it seemed spiteful, and you raised a brow, silently pegging him to go on. He sighed, digging a hand into his jacket pocket, and said, “Jimin sent them undercover to follow us.”

Your mind reeled in questions and you looked to the two before you. They were put off by you, clearly, their guard was up, but you could tell they were definitely not ranked as high as Wang. You looked back to the blonde. “Why would Jimin order them to do that?”

Jackson suddenly turned sharply on his heel, nudging you along with him, his teeth gritting together behind closed lips. “We’re about to find out.”

* * *

Y/N followed Jackson into the seemingly desolate warehouse, which ended up being the headquarters of the agency, of course. The girl observed her surroundings mutely, wanting to ask questions, but Wang looked as though he wasn’t quite in the mood for answering. She saw beyond his calm façade, the very march in his stride a giveaway since it had been easier to track his emotions, anger being an exclamation point.

While she was following him, the two men who were sent undercover trailed her. Y/N knew she’d probably have much to do to gain their trust, however, that was nowhere near priority at the moment.  When they neared the end of a corridor, Jackson brought one hand out, gesturing for her to stop.

“Jin, Jungkook, take her into a closed office. Y/N, stay with them. This will only be a few minutes.”

“They don’t trust me. How can I trust them?” He sent her a mild glare, to which she held her hands up defensively and nodded once. “Right. I understand. See you around.” He eyed her as she turned and gestured for the other two to lead the way, to which they looked at each other in momentary panic, and then sighed simultaneously.

Then, Jackson stared down the familiar door, his eyes displaying little of the fury he actually felt. He didn’t bother knocking, and brought himself in. “What the hell, Park?”

“Why, yes, please do come in, Agent Wang.” Jimin was lounged back into the cushion of his desk chair, eyes not even glancing away from the newspaper in hand. Jackson let the door slam behind him, the rattling of the windows and frame not even startling the shorter man.

“You know why I’m here.”

“And if I do?”

“Cut the bullshit, Jimin, why did you send UCs after me?” He seethed darkly, fingers coming down to clench around the edge of the solid wooden desk. His face lowered and he glared sharply through his eyebrows.

But all the director did, donned in an immaculately pristine navy suit, was sit even further back, and flip a page of his newspaper. Jackson waited, moments, and prepared to ask him again, though the black-haired man finally said, “They weren’t following you.” He scanned the page, then closed the bundle of articles entirely, tossing it onto his desk. His fingers came together and he leaned forward, meeting the confused gaze of the Agent, elbows supporting him. “I had them after her.”

“Why?”

“Just as precaution.” Jackson’s mind searched, clueless. It didn’t make sense. He was her bodyguard, it was his job to keep her safe. Words fumbled around in his mouth, because there was so much he suddenly wanted to ask, but Jimin rose from his chair, moving around the desk and standing before the taller man.

His black rimmed glasses proudly sat at the bridge of his nose, and he smiled up at the agent, saying, “There’s more to her than you are aware, Wang. There’s more to her than even she is aware. That girl is more valuable than any business deal her Family makes.” He looked down to fiddle with a small sculpture on his desk, then, he stilled, something dangerous lurking behind his grin.

“Her very existence can start a war.”

* * *

“Are you guys Jimin’s underlings or something?” You saw the older one’s throat bob, but he continued looking past you. You sighed, deathly bored. Deathly bored of them being afraid of you. You crossed your legs, the younger of the two itching to reach for his holstered weapon at the slightest movement, and you closed your eyes. Enough was enough.

“I’m not going to hurt you!” You emphasized with extended arms. They seemed to jump at your outburst, Jin leaping to his feet defensively. “Well how the hell are we supposed to know that?!”

You rolled your eyes, a dramatic groan leaving your lips. “I’m too lazy and too hungry?? Besides, I have no reason to. My second best friend is your superior.” Best friend, haha. It seemed funny to you, but you went with it. You weren’t quite sure if Jackson and you were on that level yet.

“Second best friend? Jackson?” Jungkook questioned, and you nodded. “Then who’s the first?” Junior flashed in your mind briefly, but you shook your head.

“Never mind that. But seriously, you’re making me feel like an alien. I’m not going to do anything, so will you two please just chill out?” You inwardly cheered in victory when they noticeably relaxed, Jin sitting back in his chair.

“Sorry about that.” You froze, because you hadn’t been expecting an apology, but you nodded in reassurance.

“That’s alright. I come from a well-known mob family. It enlightens me you know what I am capable of.” You heard one of them snort, and glanced towards Jin, who had finally revealed a small smile. ‘Whoa…’ You thought. ‘He’s kind of cute’.

You pushed aside your thoughts and asked what their jobs were in the agency. “We’re actually just undercover cops.”

“Just?” You rose a brow. Jin nodded and laced his fingers in his lap.

“You’re right about us being Jimin’s underlings. We do what he asks. Follow who he says to.”

Jungkook then added, his pouting lips prominent, “We’d be normal undercover policemen if Jimin hadn’t recruited us from our precinct. But that doesn’t make us any special. We’re like the lowest of low here.”

You felt fleeting sympathy within you and you tucked your chin into your palms, elbows on your knees in the seat. They must have felt even more like shit when you and Jackson trapped them. “Well, that can’t be true.” You said, voice chipper than before, reassuring. “The lowest of the low have to be the janitors.”

It took a moment of silence for wide grins to flourish across their features. You shrugged nonchalantly, they laughed.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Jungkook giggled. They were more handsome when they weren’t displaying obvious fear of a young girl in the mafia. When the room calmed down again, you were more comfortable, as they probably were too. But your eye caught the clock glaring at you from a wall, and you bolted up from your seat, cursing. You only had just under thirty minutes to make it back to the mansion before your father arrived.

Instinct was to run out of there and hunt down your bodyguard, and when you reached the door at breakneck speed, a hand gripped your wrist.

“Where are you going?” Jin questioned firmly, like warning signals were going off in his head.

“I have to get back to the mansion. I need to find Jackson.” You went for the door handle again, but he pulled you back.

“Y/N, please,” Jungkook’s voice was filled with concern. He was on the other side of you, hands up just in case he needed to step in. “If anyone else from the agency sees you, there will be uproar. We can’t have a Mob Boss’ daughter on the loose. They will recognize you.” You gave him a puzzled look. “We have tabs on all lineage of every known Family, but no one else knows we’re involved with yours.” He had placed a hand on your shoulder, gently. But all you could think about was what your father would do if he caught you going out. ‘Would he send Jackson away for being responsible for it?’

Jin tugged lightly, but you resisted. “We’re trying to prevent there from being any mistakes.” Jackson’s face flashed before your eyes, and you suddenly had Jin pinned against the wall beside the door, your eyes ablaze. “The only mistake was you following us.”

Despite the height difference, the adrenaline pumping through your blood gave you superior strength. Jin appeared stunned. Jungkook was shocked and motionless, and you let go of the eldest, throwing the door open and racing out into the hall.

Whatever overcame you blinded you of your surroundings. You retraced the steps to the best of your ability, but you wound up lost, and in the middle of a bustling, busy office space. And it only took a few seconds for all eyes to be on you.

And for a single pistol round to be fired.

* * *

Jackson jumped at the familiar noise, echoing down the halls, and Jimin’s head shot towards the door.

“Shit.” He mumbled, moving to open the blinds of the window exposing the hall. “You brought her here?!”

Jackson didn’t reply. He was already charging out of the door and down the hall opening up to the cubicle area.

Every person was stood, faces trained towards an empty spot in the air. They were all professional killers, all armed, all dangerous when needed be. And they were all waiting. He felt his heart stop. Jin and Jungkook appeared around a corner, gasping at the sight before them. They called out “Don’t shoot’s” and “Stand down’s”, racing to a crumpled body on the ground.

Jackson shoved people out of the way, jaw clenched in a blend of anger and disbelief when he saw the girl he’d hired to protect motionless, palms covering her face.

“Out of the way!” He yelled, moving through the rest of them and in between where Jungkook and Jin were trying to get her to respond. He didn’t see any blood, but that didn’t stop his panic.

“Y/N! Can you hear me?” He tried peeling her palms away from her face, but then, there was laughter. Not just any laughter. Hers.

“Oh, just in time, Wang.” She removed her hands and smiled brightly up at him, her eyes shining like she’d experienced the world’s most thrilling roller coaster. He released a sigh of relief, then scanned her body for any damage, to which she turned out of his grasp and twisted away from him. “I’m fine. Whoever did it was a shit shot. Missed me entirely.” She called out over him, and he brought her to her feet. The blonde stood protectively in front of her, searching the faces of anyone who had drawn their gun and fired at her, his patience boiling in silent fury.

“Jesus Christ you scared us.” Jin placed a hand over his chest and he and Jungkook surrounded her, cautiously eyeing the rest of the office as everyone watched on in shared confusion. Jimin paced through them all casually, drawing their attention. “Wang. Take her home. We will discuss what need be discussed at another time.” Jackson nodded, his bodyguard instinct kicking in immediately. He grabbed Y/N by the hand and pulled her away from the large room, leaving Jin and Jungkook behind. They disappeared from earshot as Jimin began. “Everyone—I believe the time has come to share some very important details…”

* * *

The two of you made it to the mansion in time, just minutes to spare before you watched Junior escort your father through the front doors. He glanced at you like he knew something was up, your father not even batting an eye your way, but he left it at that, and you released a heavy sigh. You stood from where you were sat on the grand staircase, wincing slightly, and carried yourself tiredly up the stairs, Jackson at your side with his arms folded behind his back.

“I’m going to go shower.” There was a slight slur in your words, but you hid it by clearing your throat. No need to behave like a drunkard, despite your vision growing foggy. Man, were you tired.

Jackson nodded, once, and presumed positon outside your door as he did when night came around. You walked into your room, stumbling somewhat over a rug, and didn’t bother to strip as you dazily located your bathroom, flinging the door open. The shower dial was turned without ease, and you released a near-silent whine, the water taking its merry time to heat up.

Then, you removed only a single article of clothing; your jacket. It had concealed where a spot of blood had consumed the entire side of your loosely-clinging T-shirt. You were happily surprised you had it hidden so well, and that the liquid had only spread to the inside of the jacket. Of course, there wasn’t even that much blood anyway; a flesh wound hardly amounted to much when it was just a simple graze of the bullet.

Though, it still hurt like hell.

You thought you were going to pass out from exhaustion. Perhaps you weren’t eating well enough? There was no way that could be a result from the minor blood loss. Anyway, you shrugged it off, hopping into the shower, still donning your clothes. Clothes were replaceable anyway.

It took a few moments for you to slide down the tiled wall, leaning against it as hot water streamed down your woundless-side. As you sat there, eyes growing heavy, you stared blankly through the doorway to the stand-in shower, and the doorway to the bathroom itself as well, both of which were entirely open at the expense of your laziness.

“Ugh.” You knew you had to get out eventually, and clean your wound. But it was just so comfortable sitting there. You were so out of it, you failed to realize Special Officer Jackson Wang was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, eyes widened.

“Y/N—” He stopped, watching the tiny stream of maroon trickle down into the drain, opposite side of where the shower was aimed.

“Huh? Oh hey Wang.” You finally realized he was there. “How’s it been? How long have I been in here?” He moved towards you quickly, carelessly stepping into the shower himself. He tried pulling you up, but you resisted, releasing a cry.

“Just let me stay for a bit.” The pain in your side had subdued to a numb sensation when you were still, and you were better off like that.

“Dammit, Y/N. You can’t always go around pretending. You were fucking shot.” He blocked the water from hitting you, his clothing growing soaked by the second. You groaned out. “It’s just a graze. Happens all the time, don’t worry about it.”

He still didn’t have any of it. “You’ve been in here for two hours, why the hell shouldn’t I be worried?” He shrugged off his leather jacket, tossing it out of the shower space. Then he shifted down, onto his knees, and maneuvered you carefully. You still hissed at some points, mind too hazy to piece together what he was actually doing, and then you were settled between his legs, back pressed against his sculpted chest. The both of you were drenched, and you let it briefly cross your mind the T-shirt you wore would have done little to hide anything.

But the man didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he carefully exposed the violated area on your left hip, and you saw what it looked like for the first time as well. “See? Just a grazeeeee.” He cursed and dropped the material, a hand cupping over the affected skin like a protective dome against the water.

“I’ll let you stay a few more minutes in here, but that’s it. You’re lucky the bleeding stopped.” He was right, all that was left was the blood residue hanging around. And that’d be a bitch to clean off.

“How did you even cover this?” He questioned, chest rumbling against you. You bit back a moan at the sensation, puzzled by how great he felt, and leaned your head back against his shoulder. “My jacket. I had it around my waist when the gun was fired. I used angles to hide the blood spot until I was able to put it on completely.”

He sighed into your ear, which tickled, and you both watched as the bloodied material finally caught under a small stream, a red river dipping into the drain.

“You’re too clever.” He said, and you could only chuckle before you fell asleep, and Jackson was left holding you and pondering what more of you there was to know.

* * *

“Hey V, is Zelo bringing the mollies for this one or am I doin’ it again?” Namjoon expertly let a butterfly knife dance along his fingertips, kicking his feet up onto a desk. Taehyung peered around the door of the armory. “All you man. Zelo wants to try just using his zipcord. That dummy’s gonna die.”

Namjoon smiled with malice, aiming the blade towards his friend, who in turn, stuck his tongue out.

“Fine by me, I guess.” He stated, a finger pressing against the sharp edge until a prick of blood was drawn. “Are we ready to go then?” Taehyung walked out, brandishing two polished Uzis, a box smile between his cheeks.

“Ready if you are. We’re in charge of this thing.” Namjoon let out a whistle, standing and sucking the ball of liquid from his index.

“Well, then.” He turned around, slipping the knife into his sleeve. “Let’s go burn the L/Ns to the ground.“


	5. Inferno

You loved burning candles. When you were younger, you often had a tendency to sneak through the mansion after night-fall and collect several from the dining hall.

Then, you’d set them up in your room, in rows or circles, and light them with matches you found while scavenging the utility closet. It was always calming to you, the warmth and aromatic scent. It made you feel years beyond your young age.

You would always wonder if you retained the habit from your mother’s side, someone who you couldn’t recall in the slightest, but it hardly seemed a characteristic your father would possess. She was a woman with no description, a shadow that always lurked behind with no real detail defying her. Your father never told you about her, and you didn’t ask.

But maybe the candles you burned and the fires that warmly illuminated your room were her imprints. And that’s why you always liked them. Fires. Because they made the mansion feel like a home.

* * *

“—yone wake up!”

“Find the Boss and get him to the safe-room!”

“Everyone move!”

Your eyes shot open and you immediately kicked the covers off your legs. A stampede of footsteps passed your room, a parade of silhouettes against the smoky, orange glare beneath the door. You cursed and made for the exit, whatever was happening wasn’t good, and before you could reach for the handle, the wooden slab opened up. Jackson stood in the in the frame, eyes narrowed and focused on you. His hair was unruly and his attire, dressed down, and you tried to look past it, failing. Damn. Now’s not the time.

“Let’s go.” You said nothing in return, nodding once and following him down the hall. There was a sudden burst of gunfire somewhere on the first level, various yells on all ends. Smoke clogged the air and your lungs, your vision met with gray gusts puffing towards the ceiling from the bottom floor.

The mansion itself was three stories of intricate architecture; a single grand staircase connected the floors, each floor having an array of halls like a fancy hotel, a rectangular shape with an opening in the middle. There were railings on the sides of the walkways, the doors and walls opposite, so one could easily peer over and down to the first level. The first level you assumed you were heading to.

 “It’s an ambush.” Wang declared, his jog slowing as you rounded a corner. There was no doubt in your mind it was the Mins, but you couldn’t help your confusion.

“Something’s not right,” You breathed, your pace picking up as his did. There were many older and younger members of the Family who were all headed for the safezone, a vault-like room in the basement that could only be accessed using a stairwell that was on the other side of the mansion. It was likely mob men were already joining the battle on the first floor, something unnerving as that meant you’d be nearing it on your way to the lowest level.

It wasn’t as though an ambush seemed excessive for the Mins; they were ruthless and merciless as all hell. What bothered you was how idiotic a move it was. They knew the L/Ns overpowered them. They knew since the last mob war, the mansion was built to withstand fires. It didn’t make sense to you, unless they had something else in mind.

“Watch out!” Jackson grabbed your hand and tugged you to the side, shielding you against the wall as an explosion of flames kissed a nearby closed door. You felt the heat lick your exposed skin, a gasp coming from your lips. “What the hell?!”

Another molotov sailed over the balcony, the crash of the glass and spread of the flames leading you to one conclusion; they were launching them from the first floor. “These bastards must have great pitching arms,”

“Come on!” Wang tugged your hand, leading you at full speed as more gunfire sounded. You were scared to look over the railing, but when you did, it was a sight you should have expected; you saw four L/Ns ducking behind furniture, reloading their pistols, and dozens of Mins steadily approaching, unphased by their own work of fire encircling the first floor.

“Fuck! Jackson we have to help them!” He didn’t look at you, his lip twitching because he wanted to agree, and you knew it, but he released a grunt and raced harder down the hall. “We can’t.”

You were torn by the realization he was right, and that it was his priority to get you to safety; you knew nothing would change his mind. “Dammit!” You cried out, bullets of a sub-machine gun spraying, splinters of wood flying as the L/Ns on the first floor had their covers blown to pieces. Wails of agony sounded, and you resisted the pain in your chest, tearing your eyes away from the scene and watching on ahead.

The two of you were nearing a back stairwell, following a herd of L/Ns as they staggered down in a hurry. You let some people pass in front of you, elders who you only recognized from Family portraits, but Jackson urged you on. There were terrified screams, smoke rising from lower levels and causing a fit of coughing from people all around. You gasped as you slipped, your lungs burning from the intake. “They fucked with the chemicals!” You breathed out, tears streaming from your eyes as they stung every second they were open.

“Damn mollies have some type of tear gas!” Someone else called out, and you tried holding your breath. Jackson righted you again as you tripped on another step, demanding everyone get a move on. When you got to the second floor, there were a series of shouts, but you couldn’t see the commotion over the heads of the Family members before you.

But suddenly, Wang stopped you by your shoulders and roared, “Everyone get down now!” The Agent’s voice echoed and you found yourself flying back, losing your balance as you tumbled to the carpet. Lead tore through the air, the barrel of an uzi mercilessly aimed at the front of the crowd, unloading bullets until they all were crashing down.

“Y/N, come on!” Jackson demanded, something shrill in his voice. You looked away from the massacre, your palms numbly pushing yourself to your feet. You should’ve known they’d be waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Jackson hauled you over the rail, a five foot drop, and followed suit. A line of flames danced carelessly in the air, but you took off, not heeding the burning sensation as you leapt through it. “We have to get to the other staircase!” You shouted, sweat dripping from your brow, a rasp in your dry throat.

“They might be waiting there too!” He followed, not minding the flames as he joined you on the other side.

“Then get out your goddamn gun!” You didn’t stop to wait for him, and he didn’t respond.  The two of you had separated from the other members, parting for another way to the lowest level. Repeated gunfire was constant, the smoke rising from spots on the carpet where molotovs hit. There was one more floor to go until you were really a part of the fight, and you bit your lip in anticipation. As long as you had Jackson, though, you knew you’d be alright.

“Here!” You skidded to a stop in front of the stairs, wasting no time to sprint down them. “We’re almost there!” You called out, turning to eye Wang before noticing he had his weapon trained on a figure ahead, firing twice. The Min crumbled to the ground, his blade falling from his fingers. You grabbed the stiletto as you passed by, the owner’s blood dipping beneath your fingernails.

And then, you were there; the first floor. “Stay close to me!” Jackson called over another explosion. He cupped your hand firmly and dragged you along. Your bare feet were pounding against the floor, your panting heavy and choked as you inhaled the nauseating chemicals wafting around in the air.

“Do you know where we’re going?” You asked, squeezing his palm. He nodded, though, did nothing more. You could easily find your way to the vault, but it was a pleasing surprise to know he managed to be able to as well. It almost seemed so close, yet so far.

Another corridor, you rounded, but rammed into Jackson’s back as he had stopped suddenly and began firing his beretta. Then, you sensed movement from behind, and you turned, narrowly dodging a ferocious swing of a metal pipe.

You kicked the Min’s knee until it cracked backward, a heavy grunt leaving your lips as you dove into him with an elbow drilling into his throat. He gurgled a few times, falling beneath the sudden weight, and you took the opportunity to stand and stomp a bare foot into his trachea, so hard you felt the bone crunch beneath your toes and the skin go loose.

“Y/N!” Jackson hollered, whipping around, the whole exchange only lasting a second or two. He went wide eyed and studied the scene before him, but you brushed off the look on his face, removing your bloodied foot from the wheezing man and moving on.

“Let’s go.” He said nothing, eyes determined, and reached for your hand once more. Your feet burned, your hair was soaked in sweat, blisters had formed on your arms from the flames, but you pushed on. You didn’t much care about your own safety; it was everyone else who you wanted to ensure made it to safety, Jackson even.

But all it took was turning around a corner and you were reeling back into Jackson’s chest. “Shit!” Another narrow escape, the bullets whizzed past your ear. You faintly heard a Min shouting a cease fire in between the shots, but you dismissed it and turned around, knowing that hall would not work.

“Wait!” Jackson pulled you to a stop before you carelessly rounded another corner. “Fuck, we’re surrounded!” Your eyes widened, and true to his words, you found yourself backed into a wall with two groups of Mins fast approaching. But why weren’t they shooting?

Jackson stepped in front of you, beretta aimed back and forth between both parties. Something was definitely not right about this. “What the hell do you want?!” His back vibrated with his words, tone angry and demanding as though he was about ready to raise hell on them. No one answered, instead, they all continued creeping forward, crooked, little grins on all their faces.

What the hell?

Then, an abrupt explosion sounded from the balcony above, lead pelleting and peppering the Mins before they all went crashing down. “Get the hell out of there, you two!”

You immediately recognized the voice, daringly taking a peek up at the L/N to confirm your suspicions.

“JB!”

“I understand I am unbelievably bad ass,” He stated coolly, cocking the shotgun so shells flew in smoke trails in the air. “But now I’m saving you, so do me a favor, and get the fuck to safety!” He sent you his famous smirk, and for the first time, you didn’t find it annoying. Then, he unleashed another spray of bullets, a storm of shrapnel ricocheting into the chests of the straggling Mins. They piled onto the floor, and you spared JB one last look before Jackson pulled you out of the mess.

You were almost there. So close. With just one more hall to go until you reached the hidden stairwell leading to the underground level, you picked up your pace. You couldn’t see anyone, Mins or not, except Jackson leading you. The air was so thick with smoke it almost looked as though it was volcanic ash, like the fires of Pompeii had somehow made their way into the mansion.  You knew you would faint if you were exposed for another five minutes. And as many familiar faces you saw dead on the ground, there were far more unrecognizable ones that obstructed your view. The Mins had shed more blood. The L/Ns would not go down without a fight, and you grew faintly proud in that moment, continuing a steady, quick pace.

Finally, with a gasp, you crossed through the doorway hidden in the shadows of a narrow corridor. Wang slowed to cautiously move down the steps before you, and you followed suit… until a hand wrapped around your neck and launched you backward. The strength of the culprit was almost unreal. Your fingers flew from Jackson’s as you released a whistle of a wheeze, thrown back into the hall.

There, you saw a figure standing before you. His eyes were sharp and meticulous, taunting you with charcoal orbs; lips spread in a grin that made even the joker look elementary. You coughed and tried to stand to your feet, the tall man approaching you and whipping out a butterfly blade stained with blood lust.

You wheeled back, knowing your bodyguard was sure to tackle the man any second, but the Min showed zero signs of awareness of the Agent behind him. Instead, he merely crept forward, the butterfly dancing between his fingers. Sure enough, you heard rushed footsteps coming from the stairs, and a wisp of blonde blurred in your vision.

“Bastard!” And then you saw it; the look in the Min’s eyes. Like he knew something was about to happen. Throwing caution to the wind, you screamed, “Jackson stop!”

But he didn’t. And another figure dropping down from the second level was all it took to bury the Agent against the floor. He groaned out, your eyes widening in shock and fear and guilt because you knew you should have seen it coming. “Wang!” Your eyes stung but you refuse to close them.

The man cackling deeply on top of the blonde was a bit shorter than the other Min, but when he stood, height didn’t matter because he was still towering over you, his boots digging into Jackson’s back as the latter tried to collect the wind knocked from him.

“Ohh, she’s cute!”

“V, admire her later. She’s still our target.” They spoke without care, the V one jumping off and joining his Family member at his side. You gulped as your back hit a wall, burned fingers catching the follicles of the rug.

“Jackson!” You cried out again, worry lacing your words. His only motion was slow, unstable movements, like he was fighting a sleeping spell.

“He’ll be fine, don’t worry. Now, would you like to come with us?” The tall one smirked and pointed the tip of the blade at the crevice of his lips.

“Fuck you.” You spat. He chuckled and kneeled down before you, his knife working dangerous patterns in the air until the cool of the silver met your throat.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His voice had dropped into a husky whisper, and you shivered in disgust. He rose with a sigh, twirling the hook of the weapon around his index. “Unfortunately, even though we are immune to these chemicals floating around in the air, you’re not. And we need you alive.”

“Hey Namjoon, this guy’s still twitching. Should I just end it?” You gasped and lurched forward.

“No! Please!” Namjoon glanced between you and the unconscious man with a mischievous smile. Then, he stepped away, giving you a full view of the horror before you.

“Go ahead.” V smiled wickedly, eyes twinkling like he was a fucking psychopath. And he probably was. He brought out a thin, steel wire from his coat, something like a guitar string, but you knew it was a hell of a lot sharper than that.

“No!” You screamed. “Jackson get up! Jackson!” Your frantic cries brought tears to your eyes, and you wearily heaved yourself up against the wall, your vision growing foggy.

The so-called V stepped a foot on either side of the fallen man, the man you had spent so long just trying to humanize and grow closer to. You were angry and frustrated, because you wouldn’t be able to fight them off. You weren’t even sure if you could walk in a straight line anymore, the chemicals in the air stirring up a haze of disorientation.

The heart in your chest felt as though it was being torn into pieces with every inch closer the wire was to Jackson’s neck. But with one final burst of strength, your voice broke through the barrier of the smoke, echoing down the halls. “I’ll go!” V stopped. Namjoon turned. Jackson was still motionless. You held yourself against the wall, the fire in your eyes ablaze like those around.

“I’ll go,” You repeated, quieter. “Willingly. I won’t fight. Just don’t touch him.” You were probably going to pass out anyway, but the determination in your words was prominent, and seemingly, effective; Namjoon smirked, shrugging towards V who backed away from Wang with a sigh of discontent. You exhaled heavily, collapsing back into the wall. And true to your words, you didn’t even move as the two Mins approached you. You didn’t even look at them. Your eyes were glued to him, and him alone.

So glued, in fact, you didn’t even notice Junior was standing in the stairwell doorway with daggers in his eyes. It was only when Namjoon had pressed his pretty butterfly blade against your throat you realized you were still conscious and something was happening.

“—drop your gun or I’ll slit her throat.” Wait a second. Junior wasn’t a gun kind of guy. He opted for blunt force objects or knives. But he was standing there. Then…

You gasped.

“You wouldn’t fucking dare.” Jackson weakly trained his beretta until it was glaring at the spot between Namjoon’s eyes. He was still on his stomach, hand shaking ever so slightly as he aimed. There was no doubt in your mind he wouldn’t make the shot accurately, while Junior was watching the exchange intently.

“Jackson,” You breathed out, tensing when Namjoon drew a drop of blood. “I’m going to go with them.”

He was only half conscious, but when he realized what you said, he met your eyes in question. “What?” Concern, fear, worry. You never saw those expressions on him. Not until that moment. A tear ran down your dirtied cheeks, and you let V wrap an arm around your waist to hoist you up.

“Don’t shoot. You’ll miss.” You didn’t give him a chance to respond. “If you shoot, they’ll kill you. Please don’t die.”

Your face had grown increasingly wet, your vision increasingly blurry. The shine of the flames surrounding you reflected in your eyes, your fists clenching as you resisted running up to him or fighting the Mins. But you knew you had lost.

He watched you from his spot on the ground, evident devastation in his eyes. “Y/N…” His voice was quiet and pleading, but you shook your head, stepping back as the arm around your waist pulled you away. You were too weak to struggle. He was too weak to fire. His gun fell from his fingers, and you knew he was going to black out again. You saw it in his sad eyes.

You glanced knowingly at Junior, silently begging he take care of him, to which he nodded and remained tight-lipped. With his eyelids fluttering, trying to fixate his vision, the Agent watched you go. “Y/N… don’t…”

His voice shattered your heart; it made you want to go crazy. Like it had all been a nightmare you were about ready to wake up from. But the fires were too real. The pain inside of you, too real.

With a sob, “You have to save me! Jackson! You have to—” You choked on your words, Namjoon quietly chuckling in disbelief at your side.

Your raspy voice quieted. “…Save me.”

Maybe he registered your words before fading into darkness. Maybe he didn’t.

But whatever the case, you trusted Special Officer Jackson Wang to obey his orders.

* * *

Junior waited until the three had been consumed by smoke. It would only be minutes until the fires would be put out. Maybe ten. Maybe fifteen. He could last in the chemical smoke, but Jackson damn well couldn’t.

The right hand man brought an arm around the Agent, easily lifting him and supporting his weight. The remainder of the L/Ns easily made it to safety. He was sure the numbers of lost lives wouldn’t be too grave, but they would all be honored exceptionally.

It had occurred to him long before confrontation with those two devious Mins that the attack had all been because the girl. Everything, because of her. He was still perplexed. Angered. Why did that want her, anyway? Y/N. She didn’t need to be dragged into the problems of the Families. The Mins lost more lives, taking the stupid risk. But they got what they wanted, so who was the real loser?

Junior nudged Jackson up so he could place his arm around his neck. Then, he drew his bowie at someone approaching from the right. It was at first just a shadow, then a familiar shadow. “Gee, never did I think a man could be so uptight.”

He relaxed as JB limped towards him, famous smile unfaltering despite the obvious favoritism of his left leg. He looked worse for wear.

“Where’s Y/N?” He questioned, peering around. Junior only shook his head, gesturing for JB to help him support Wang’s dead weight. “Well fuck, all that work I did and she still manages to get captured? I even took a goddamn bullet for her.”

“Man up and help me carry him.”

“Alright, alright… It’s just a flesh wound, by the way. No need to be so worried about me.”

“Stop talking.”

“Okay, got it.”

He grabbed ahold of Jackson’s other arm, swinging across his shoulders as he bore the other half on his good leg. Junior paced forward, out of the smoke, and they both cleared the floor and headed down to safety, wondering what was going to happen now. More so, what was going to happen to her.


	6. Confined

****

You stared blankly out of the tinted window, falling in and out of consciousness as the minutes ticked by. The gas was deep in your system, its chemicals acting as a drug that left you teetering on the edge of life and death. Of course, they said they needed you alive, so you should be fine. But that didn’t stop you from feeling as though any breath you took could be your last.

At some point, the vehicle stopped, and you caught brief words exchanged between the two men in the car with you. It was hardly anything you could make out in your derezzed state of mind, but you were able to register a third voice in the conversation you hadn’t heard before. Your eyes slowly drifted towards the windshield, agonizingly taking in cloudy detail until they lay upon the rearview mirror. You caught a pair of brown orbs peering back at you, and it took a moment for you to realize it, but when you did, you stiffened. Though those eyes didn’t have the same look in them as the other Mins’ did; these ones were hollow… but kind. You relaxed. He didn’t seem to have harmful intent. He was just the Family’s driver.

Soon after, you were being pulled from the car, legs numbly holding your weight as V supported your arm around his shoulders. “Man you’re heavy,” He said, and your head lolled to weakly rest on Namjoon’s bicep as he came around to help. You heard him sigh and realized those men seemed completely different from how they behaved just shortly before. Sure, you knew they were still blood-thirsty villains, but now that their job met its end, it was almost as though they were just bored with you.

A man came jogging from around the car to open the massive door of the grand entryway, and you realized he must have been the driver. He was young, with a longish face and silky brown hair, his legs long and body lithe beneath his dress clothes. When he turned and met your eyes again, his lips had the tiniest of smiles, still hollow eyes shining in some kind of sincerity. He didn’t look like a Min. And for that, something inside you wanted to trust him.

You passed through the entry, and all eyes went your way. V and Namjoon called some things out, the lights all hazing together in your vision. You were positive the mansion was probably as grandiose as your own, but there was no telling with how fucked up the gases made your senses. But you were feeling a bit better at least.

With more stability, you leaned off of Namjoon. He distanced himself with a damnable dead pan, nudging you forward like you were a prisoner being escorted by guards. V curled an arm around your waist, palm resting in a place that revealed he was more decent a man than he first let on. Either it was the haziness of your mind, or the Mins really weren’t as hostile as they displayed themselves to be. Not now, at least.

You counted the number of doorways you passed until arriving before a slightly extravagant one that Namjoon knocked on before entering. The room was large and gray, with a cold and sterile feeling. There were no windows. You tripped over your bare foot as you were walking, the cuts and scrapes stinging with every step. V had enough a hold on you to keep you upright, though, and he quickly maneuvered you to a lone, metal chair sitting before an intimidating wooden desk. No one sat on the other side of the desk.

You were hastily bound to the chair, wrists cuffed behind your back. They were going too easy on you. When your tunnel vision cleared and you could focus, you noticed someone had already been in the room before you arrived. You gulped, expecting to see the old man all the articles emphasized was the most merciless of mob bosses. Instead, he was young, and not amazingly tall. His hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed a collage of newspaper clippings and photos tacked into the wall. Who was he?

“Boss,” Namjoon’s deep voice erupted from behind you, and you jumped. The man didn’t respond right away, rather seemingly sighing and slowly turning around. You could have gasped. His hair was reddish-brown, his dark eyes slanted with ears pierced as though he was going through a rebel phase. He was pale, donned in a fitting black jacket and dark, tight jeans. He couldn’t have been much older than you. But he was a damn candy for the eye.

“This is our girl.” V set a palm down on your shoulder, patting it excitedly, like a dog happily wagging its tail after obeying its master. The man’s eyes went from his underlings to you, tracing slowly like he was analyzing everything about your being. You grew hot under his intense gaze.

“Good work.” He stated, gruffly. “Leave us.”

There was no response behind you, so you assumed Namjoon and V had done just that. To confirm your suspicions, the echoing of the door resonated in your ears, and you suddenly felt nervous. They called him boss… so does that mean—?

“My father died not long ago. The mansion is in my hands now.” He wasn’t looking at you when he said it, but rather towards the massive desk spewing authority. “He was sick, and not given much time. He died without reason.” The young man took careful steps towards the table, a finger mindlessly running along the wood as he circled it. His shadow projected onto the surface, the overhead lamp swaying gently. The man paused. “Before he died, he gave me one final request.” He faced you, lounging behind the desk. “He asked I recover what your father stole from us.”

“My father didn’t steal anything!” You found yourself gasping, defiantly. You began struggling against the binding. It wouldn’t budge. There was a lazy tutting sound behind you, and you shrieked when a large, cold hand encompassed yours.

His voice was hot in your ear, your eyes widening. “What do you know?” He breathed out darkly. The sound of your rapidly thumping heart could be heard down the hall, and fear consumed you. But he didn’t hover there long; he pulled away, your hair falling back into your face, and gave a small squeeze to your palm. You went tight-lipped.

“Your father never involved you in his business affairs, right?” He was right. But you didn’t answer. The man went around you and kneeled so he was at eye-level. “This grudge goes back to the old war, before our time.”  He leaned back until the desk supported his weight.  His neck glistened under the dim lighting, a vein protruding near his pronounced Adam’s apple. He was so pale, you wondered if he’d ever seen the light of day. After a moment, he met your eyes again. “Your father stole the most important possession in the Min name. And he sits on it like he’s a prosperous businessman.” He scoffed, lowly.

You felt annoyed; annoyed because there was no way you could entirely doubt what he’d said. You knew little to nothing of your dad’s whereabouts most of time, or what he was doing. You cursed under your breath. This had you in a bad spot.

“What do you say he stole?” You questioned with ease, already thinking through the possibilities. Yoongi remained silent, though, and you gritted your teeth, continuing to pry. “What good does holding me hostage do? My father has more important things to worry about than me.” You were slightly pained by the truth of it, but willing it’d be reason enough to let you go. Half of you knew he’d prioritize rebuilding the mansion before rescuing his daughter. You thought of Jackson. He was probably your only hope.

The mob boss cocked his head, unamused. Like he was deciding how true your words were. Then, he eyed the wall of articles, and you followed his line of sight. You were too far to make out any of the words, but the collection looked like the ones you’d seen in crime dramas where the entire wall was filled and mapped out with theories.

“You could be right.” He said. “But only time will tell.” He waked past you, his slow pace echoing throughout the frigid atmosphere. Already leaving?

“Wh… hey! Asshole!” You called out, fists clenching in their bound position. The footsteps stopped. You gulped. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea…

“The time you remain in this room depends on how long it takes for your father to contact me. And my name is not Asshole.” His words had no hesitation, and you felt the air shift as he presumably opened the door. “You will call me Yoongi. Just as I will call you Y/N.” Questions swarmed you, but before you could raise hell again, the door clicked shut, and you released a tired sigh.

“Yoongi, huh?” You spoke to the dead air. “He could’ve at least loosened these cuffs…” The night carried on with no more than the ringing in your ears and the hope you would see your bodyguard soon.

* * *

Jackson entered the secured doors of the agency with a hidden rage. He jammed his finger into the keypad until it gave a terrified chirp of acceptance and allowed him in. His boots led him exactly where he needed to be, and when he stormed into the room, he let the door slam close. “What the hell’s the meaning of this?” He demanded, pointedly bringing his phone up for Jimin to see. Though, the director continued gazing out the window with his palms firmly clasped behind his back.

“Park—!”

“It’s exactly as it says.” The shorter man looked over his shoulder, without even eyeing the device. “You are not to interfere with the L/Ns anymore. Stay out of it.”

Jackson seethed, the device almost crumbling in his hand. “Why the fuck now?! Y/N was taken—!”

“Thus, you have failed your mission to keep her safe. It is quite clear this task was unsuitable for you from the start, so it is partly my fault I guess.” Jimin turned and carefully sat back in his chair, legs crossing. He cleaned the lens of his glasses with his suit sleeve, placing them back on the bridge of his nose, an action signifying the discussion was over. But to Jackson, the discussion was FAR from that. The blonde strode up to the desk and slammed his palms atop it, the wood almost cracking beneath them. Jimin remained unfazed.

“You’re telling me to abandon my mission—?!”

“I’m telling you—” The Director was on his feet in a split second, gripping the Agent’s collar. “…to keep away from that Family.” He stated through his teeth, his eyes narrowly glaring up at the other man. Jackson huffed and drew away, arms crossing. He wouldn’t lay off. He couldn’t.

“Why the entire Family?”

Jimin sighed, “Persistent prick…”and let his hands drop to his sides as he collapsed back into his chair, pushing his glasses back into place. “Let’s just say…” He began, pinching the sleeve of his misty-gray suit jacket. “The Agency is at risk if the Mins are involved. If the Mins know we’re in on this, they won’t hesitate to show up at our door. We’re not supposed to be picking sides in this system.”

Jackson’s eyes widened, and he bit back a curse. “You’re letting an innocent girl be detained by them.”

“An innocent girl?” The man laughed. “She’s no better than the rest of them… if only they knew what they really have in their possession.” He mentioned under his breath.

“Don’t talk like she’s an object.” Wang grew defensive. “She didn’t ask to be the daughter of a mob boss.” He restated her words as though he’d memorized them. Which he somewhat did. Jimin released a short chuckle.

“Ah so you’ve grown attached?” His head tilted as he glanced up at the other man. Jackson didn’t respond. Director Park chuckled again. “Well even better the reason to leave her be. That way you won’t be sobbing over her grave when they slaughter her.”

“You shut the hell up!” Jackson came forward with fire in his threatening eyes, but he stopped himself just short of wringing his superior’s neck. He, instead, released a guttural noise and sharply turned on his heel, making for the door.

“Wang.” Jimin stated coolly. Jackson froze, halfway out of the room. “Don’t go back there. That’s an order.” He demanded with affirmation. Jackson let the door slam behind him once more, ignoring the pegging eyes of his colleagues. He made straight for his car and tore out of the lot, his mind set. He didn’t care if he lost his job. If it meant saving Y/N, he would do anything.

The Agent sped along the highway until he arrived at the towering gates of a familiar mansion.

* * *

You slept lightly, your head nodding forward again and again. You were damnably uncomfortable, but exhausted nonetheless. Time was a mystery, and given there was no window in the room, you were even more uncertain how many hours passed since you were last at the mansion.

As a wave of sleep overcame you once more, you relaxed into the chair and allowed it to consume you. You faintly registered the door behind you opening and closing, and the sound of feet padding closer and closer. “Y/N” A husky voice that sounded in your peaceful dream. You stirred. The metal clamped around your wrists loosened completely and the sound of the cuffs clanging against the floor resonated in your ears. You opened your eyes.

“What time is it?” You croaked, half-conscious. Yoongi brought his hands to your shoulders and lifted you. “Wha—?” You then noticed your wrists were freed and you no longer were trapped in the chair.

“7:30 AM. You need to clean yourself.” He was wearing different clothes since the last time you saw him, of similar style though. If you were kidnapped around 1 AM, that means you were dozing off for a significant amount of time. Great. No real sleep the entire night. You were no better than dead.

“Did you even sleep?” You questioned with little slur. He didn’t answer, but directed you out of the room. When your eyes adjusted to the morning sun in the hall, you took in the place for the first time; it was as glorious as you envisioned. While it wasn’t as tall as your own, the mansion made up for the height with the enormous light fixtures and long, empty hallways. It appeared to let more daylight in than even the L/N House. You could’ve gasped.

Yoongi gestured you towards a nearby door, supposedly a guest bathroom from the looks of it, equipped with polished handles and faucets and a full bath tub.

“You have ten minutes. Though… that may not be enough.” He looked over you once, and you sneered. You shut the door in his face.

The first thing you did was peel your fitted pajamas from your body, coughing when the intake of smoke actually hit you. It clung to every inch of your body, becoming incense-like in your hair. You stripped entirely, not minding to look yourself in the mirror. There was a towel and a loose, casual dress waiting on the counter. You wondered if he picked it out. It looked to be your size.

After many minutes spent scrubbing your skin ruthlessly, the water at the bottom of the tub was a sickly ash-gray. Your hair was infused with a strawberry scented shampoo/conditioner duo, which you thankfully covered your whole body with, and by the time you got out, there was knocking at the door.

“Hurry up.” He said, impatiently.

“Give me time, or else the entire mansion will smell me.”

You heard him huff on the other side of the frame, a very un-mob boss-like action, and you settled yourself before the mirror. You looked fine. Probably a millennium better than you had nine minutes prior, but the bags under your eyes weren’t too bad, and your skin wasn’t too brazen with cuts and bruises. Fine was enough. You changed hurriedly, towel-dying your sopping locks to the best of your ability, and stepped out of the loo. Your feet still hurt like crazy, but at least everything else was clean.

“Took long enough.” If he made any note of your changed appearance, he kept it within him, as he marched you back down the hall and right into the same room you spent the early morning in. The room wasn’t as cynical as it had been before, though; there was a tray of arranged fruits and oatmeal sitting on the desk. You sent a raised eyebrow its way and sat down in your chair wordlessly. Yoongi locked the door behind him and paced to the center of the room, glancing at you briefly before nodding his head towards the food.

“Eat.”

His order was lazy and undemanding, as though he really didn’t care whether or not you actually obeyed. You remained motionless. The young man rolled his eyes. “Eat, now.” His words came out firmer. Okay, maybe he did care a little bit.

You didn’t move, but you shook your head in disinterest. “Not hungry.”

You heard him sigh and observed as he turned and made for the wall of clippings. He made no other move to persuade you. Seconds passed. He would fiddle with the edges of some aged clippings, trailing his long finger across the board linking them together, and side step and he read over them.

It was an interesting process, really. You were curious as to if he was actually reading what was there, and how many times he read it. But then it hit you; you were alone in a room he locked from the inside, and he lowered his guard to the point he took his focus off you. A scenario played out in your head. Your eyes danced over the lone fork that was placed beside the tray on the desk, its tines seeming sharper and more doable than anything else in the room so far.

You crept forward, pulling up the skirt of the charcoal dress until it was at your thigh. Then, when you were close enough, you snatched the fork, sliding it into the spot between your hip and panties, the elastic being enough to secure it. You let the skirt fall, swaying back to your heels as you released a sigh of relief.

That was step one.

Yoongi was halfway through the articles now, like he was just scanning over them. He seemed to be in deep thought. What better an opportunity? Your bare feet padded along the tile almost silently, your toes gently pressing against the cold flooring, and you slowed when you were about three feet away. At that proximity, he could easily whip around at the slightest of noises. You held your breath. The lamp creaked overhead.

Your finger hovered above the concealed fork, slowly clenching the material and making it rise. You had to do it. You had to. It was your only chance.

You lunged forward, but missed entirely.

Instead, your back was slammed against the wall, some tack ends jutting into your spine. You cried out, but his hand was rough on your lips.

“You thought I let my guard down that much?” You tried biting his hand, but he was too quick. He held you in place, and you blanched when you felt his palm hook your knee around his elbow, his groin pressed completely against yours. He drove the skirt of the dress up, hiking it around your hips. You almost squealed with the exposure, but you should’ve seen it coming. He released a chuckle upon seeing the carelessly placed utensil, slowly, excruciatingly peeling it from the elastic of your cotton underwear. You blushed ferociously, trying to fight against him, but he held your hands together above you hand with his single free one.

“Actually you’re quite clever.” He admitted, doing nothing to distance himself afterward. Instead, he stayed put, his dark smile unnerving you to no end. You felt him between your legs, your face growing hot again.

“Please move.” He ignored you, but his expression softened. Yoongi inched away, turning the fork in his hand.  “Eat.” His voice was low, but lacked a controlling tone. He seemed to be pleading. “It isn’t poisoned. I already had some.” He added.

You knew there was doubt in your eyes, and he sighed again, finally moving away towards the desk, pointedly stabbing the fork into a pineapple and shoving it into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed. And was fine.

He did it again, but instead of putting it into his own mouth, he paced back to you. He offered it, his eyes half-lidded, displaying no emotion. You made no move. And as if Satan himself was reigning karma on you, your stomach released a guzzled groan. You swear you saw his lips twitch. He brought the fork closer to your tight lips. “Eat it. Please. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want what belonged to my father.”

His words were somewhat sincere, despite his tone being impassive. Ah what the hell. You cautiously dipped your head down and circled the pineapple chunk with your teeth, biting it and sliding it from the tines. He watched you intently. You then pulled away, the sweet, juicy flavor filling your mouth, so delightful after the smoke-infested evening, you almost cried.

You grabbed the fork from him suddenly, with a different intention, and strode to the desk, scooting your prisoner chair up to the other side before digging in.

Yoongi released a short-lived chuckle from the other wall, and left the room without another word. You heard the lock click from the outside, deciding there must have been two separate locking mechanisms on that door. You stuffed an orange bite into our mouth. If that were the case, then the room could have been equally used for locking people out… and shutting them in.

You paused mid-bite and turned, surveying the door.

When you approached it, you checked the corners of the room for cameras, seeing nothing yet, and then eyed the lock on the inside.

It needed a key. Which meant the one outside the door probably did too. You wondered if Yoongi had the only key. He had to of. It wouldn’t make sense otherwise. You turned and took in the rest of the room you had yet to inspect. There was a massive silver vault taunting you in the far corner of the room, so huge, you were positive it could’ve been home to a military tank. Your curiosity deemed to be unquenchable.

You went back to your breakfast and wondered what Jackson was up to. You hoped he was okay. The fork tightened in your palm. And if he wasn’t… that V and Namjoon would be the ones to face your wrath.

You finished eating, and began scheming. There had to be another way out of there. And if Jackson couldn’t save you, you wouldn’t let yourself just sit and rot. You would leave the Min mansion one way or another.


	7. Lie

After three days, you were feeling the familiar itch and dreading of being under house arrest. They were spent dwelling inside the cynical, cold office space, twiddling your thumbs and mindlessly eating the meals delivered throughout. You saw Yoongi every day, but only for a short period of time. He’d come in to either pin another newspaper clipping to the collage on the wall or to sit silently at the desk and read something.

You found his presence wasn’t uninviting at all. It was, rather, on the contrary: the resounding silence between you two was not awkward by any means. Yoongi never spoke, but you caught his eyes scanning you when you’d eat sometimes. He even brought a collection of books you drowned yourself in. The guy was more caring than the unfeeling front he put up led you to initially believe. You marveled in the fact he was the new face of the Mins.

Then there was this other woman. Her skin was tan, worn, and stretched over lean muscle. She couldn’t have been a few days over forty-five. Tabetha was her name. She introduced herself quietly, and rarely talked, though, it seems she didn’t expect you to either. Her Tag was painted miraculously on the back of her neck, her smoky hair always knotted and unruly above it. She never smiled, like her lips held a permanent scowl, her almond eyes always narrowed. But again, as intimidating as she appeared, she almost gave off a stern motherly vibe. You welcomed it after the second day.

Tabetha brought your meals and showed you to the restroom when needed. She and the Mob Boss were the only two you saw.

You shook your head when a sudden burst of anxiousness consumed you, stuffing your face into a towel. After a few seconds of heavy breathing, you patted the towel over your arms and neck, wrapping it around your hair as you stepped back and gauged your nude reflection in the mirror. There were some remnants of what must have been age-old mascara smeared around your eyes. You brought your palms up to viciously scrub the clammy skin until it nearly tore. Then you moved closer.

“Oh,” you said. There was no mascara. Those were just the dark circles embedded into your skin. Huh.

You clothed yourself in a clean button-up dress, a forest green that contrasted your pale skin artistically. True, your health was obviously not in its prime. Something about being locked up in an enemy family’s mansion made finishing your meals and sleeping difficult. You sighed, leaving to meet Tabetha in the hall.

Before you entered the all-too-familiar door, you turned, letting yourself soak in the sunset beaming from the windows. Tabetha watched you wordlessly, and you didn’t want to keep her waiting, so you continued, mirthfully.

Day five, you woke up with a start in the spot in the corner where someone had placed a sleeping bag and pillow. Yoongi had stalked in and stood in place by his desk. You gave him a questioning look. He had never showed up at that time—whatever time it was.

He was staring at you, his expression a little harder than usual. “Why has no one come for you?”

You stretched, releasing a groan as your back gave a twinge of pain. “Because there are better things to do. Like rebuild a mansion.” You yawned and sat up, slowly easing yourself onto your feet. “What time is it anyway?”

“Does your father really care so little?”

You froze, eyeing the floor quickly. Then, a tendril of hair made its way around your finger, and you smiled. “He really does.”

Yoongi gave a look of confliction before turning away, absently staring at the wall. You wondered what was going on in his head. You bit your lip and took a seat in the chair you were bound to on your first day. Jackson crossed your mind, and a swell of panic and discomfort filled you. You missed his presence, how you knew you were never alone despite how quiet it was. You yearned for his knowing dark eyes that were always watching. Something inside of you crumbled.

You missed him…

You shook it off before Yoongi turned again. “My father was cold… but he cared a lot. He loved this Family. He would do anything for it.” He quietly admitted.

You released an unenthused “oooh” before scraping some dirt from beneath your fingernails. Yoongi faced you, his arms clasped behind his back. He was dressed down a bit more than usual, forgoing a suit jacket that left him in a snug-fitting dress shirt and black slacks. You noticed he’d unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and realized maybe he did look a bit disheveled. His flaming hair had resorted to a mass of unruly dark locks, and his eyes seemed less calculating than usual.

He looked tired.

You wanted to share your thoughts, but dismissed it upon seeing he had turned and was heading for the door.

“Tabetha will bring breakfast soon. Sorry to wake you.” And he was out before you could respond. You sighed, conflicted; he apologized… it wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be considering. You crossed your arms and leaned back, fingering the straps of your dress. You were supposed to hate the Mins and everything about them… so why couldn’t you?

 Yoongi slammed the door of his late father’s office and ran his palms along his face. Somewhere from behind some curtains, Taehyung poked his head out and gave the man a questioning glance. “Boss~?”

Yoongi threw him a look and dragged his tired legs across the floor to collapse in the lounge chair he often napped in. “Where’s Namjoon?” He asked gravely.

On cue, the door was open and the man in question waltzed in carrying two large boxes of what was presumed to be pizza. “Here, Suga. Hope you’re in the mood for Italian.”

“It’s nine AM… of course we’re in the mood for Italian.” V unwound himself from the drapes and skipped over to where Namjoon had placed the boxes atop the fine wooden desk. Yoongi closed his eyes, hardly capable of figuring out if he even held an appetite, and opted to try and think through his options. He didn’t exactly expect the Boss of L/Ns to be a no-show for so long. “Where’s Hoseok?” He grumbled, Namjoon tearing a stretch of cheese from his mouth so he could respond. “Should be here any second. He was following me with the drinks.” Suddenly, the door was open again, and in walked the Family Driver. He was pouting, juggling a few liters of soda in his lanky arms. “You coulda left the door open for me…”

“Boss needs ya.”

Hoseok’s gaze flitted over to the corner where Yoongi was laid, immediately assuming a straightened posture and giving his attention. Normally, Yoongi would have told him to relax—you see, he’d also been the driver for the latest Boss, and he wasn’t quite yet acclimated with the fact one of his closest childhood friends was now the head of the mansion. But the shorter man wasn’t up for correcting him. Instead, he gave him his orders.

“I need you to send for L/N. Take Namjoon with you. He’s your back-up.” Namjoon scoffed into his pizza slice but said nothing against it. Yoongi continued, “Tell whoever you may see that I will slit the girl’s throat myself this evening if that damned coward doesn’t meet me on my front step.”

“Daaaamn~” V hissed, throwing a thumbs up towards his boss. Hoseok glanced down for a brief second, before nodding wordlessly. He swiveled on his heel to deposit the soda beside the pizza and gestured Namjoon towards the door, who, in turn, grabbed the remainder of a box and carried it with him.

“Oh, one more thing… This goes mainly to you, Namjoon.”

“Why me?”

“Do not, under any circumstance…” Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, exasperatedly. “…be the first to draw arms.” Hoseok eyed the man beside him, jutting him with an elbow when he began to laugh.

“I’ll be sure he doesn’t.”

“Thanks, Hobi. Off you go.” Their superior waved them off without a glance, the door shutting with a resounding click. Taehyung was face-deep in his pizza, cheese and grease splayed all over his face as he giggled at his own thoughts. Yoongi turned away and shut his eyes again, sighing.

He hadn’t slept all night.

That damn girl was on his mind.

* * *

Jackson Wang released a long sigh and flung the covers from his body. His first move was to the fridge. His second was to his cell phone. As he downed a liter of organic tea, he dialed a number and counted the rings until someone answered, “Hello?”

“Is that any way to speak to your superior?” Wang threatened. The tired voice on the other line stammered for a moment before clearing his throat and apologizing.

“Special Officer Wang, good morning! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize who I was—”

“Jungkook, just give me an update.” The younger boy released a breath, lips snapping to a close, and shuffled a bit in his place. Jackson waited near-patiently.

“I’d better just hand the phone to Jin. He was on watch the past few hours. Here.” There was a bit more commotion, the sound of slight protest, but the phone was successfully handed over and Jackson was beginning to grow anxious.

“H-hey Special Officer Wang.”

“Report.”

A nervous chuckle erupted from the other line. “Nothing much happened since the last update. Only the occasional cars going in and out. Nothing out of the norm. The mansion is making great progress though…” There was a pause. “If anything happens we’ll keep you posted.”

Jackson released a sigh that could have been out of relief or exasperation, but he nodded to himself. “Okay. Let me know.”

“One more thing!” Jin exclaimed, his pitch a little higher. “Um… You’re sure Jimin isn’t going to know about this, right?” Jackson’s brow rose and he leaned back into the couch. His lip twitched.

“That idiot only has eyes on me. You two don’t have to worry. And when this all blows over, you might be in for a promotion.” There was a notable jeer on the other end, to which the elder of the undercover cops shushed the younger.

“Hey thanks, Wang.”

“I got it, now get back to watch.” The agent suddenly felt less worried than before. Of course, he was unsettled by the fact Y/N had been missing for so long. It’s what kept him up. But he knew he could put his faith in the two cops to keep an eye on the L/N mansion while he couldn’t.

But before he could end the call, Jin suddenly spoke up. “Jungkook… that’s… Wang we spot an unidentified vehicle approaching the main gate. Looks like a Min tag.”

Jackson flew up from the sofa and cursed. He had to be there. He had to know. Were they returning her? Did they do anything to her? Was she hurt? Was she dead? Anger consumed him. “What are they doing, Jin?” He demanded, forcefully. There was silence on the other end, Jackson running a hand through his blonde tendrils, and Jin finally said, “They’re leaving the car. There’s two of them. They appear to be unarmed, but one is carrying a parcel of some sort.”

Jackson seethed. Maybe they cut her finger off to offer to her father? Maybe her entire fucking head is in the box? He was going mad. “And now?!”

Jin hesitated, as though piecing together what he was seeing from afar. “The L/Ns at the gate are disarming themselves… I think…yeah, they’re accepting the parcel. It looks like an envelope now.”

“They’re leaving?”Jungkook questioned disbelievingly from somewhere else in the vehicle. Jackson said nothing.

“Yes, they’re leaving. Probably a message from their boss.” Jin confirmed, sighing in relief. What an anticlimactic exchange. Especially between a Min and L/N. Jackson was perturbed, nonetheless. It was beyond unsettling. He mentally cursed Jimin once again for pulling him from the assignment.

“Jin, listen up.” He ordered firmly. “If you see the Boss get into a car and leave, you let me know. Follow them but keep your distance, got it?”

There was an affirmative and Jackson ended the call with a huff of weariness. He tossed the phone to the other side of the couch and drew a sharp intake. Then, he downed the remainder of his tea and set out to disobey Director Park’s commands.

* * *

The Min mob boss stood at the balcony overlooking the mansion’s grounds. His dark eyes cast along the pale sun-glazed surface as he drew in a breath of impatience and unease. Anything could go wrong. The last thing he wanted was another war with the L/Ns, especially as he was the newly appointed Father of the Min family. He was a decent guy. He wanted to make amends. And the fires at the L/N mansion? He had to order an ambush. It was the only way to display his perseverance. Plus, it was easy; he figured they wouldn’t expect it. The Mins were ruthless, but they were not the ones at fault. And that naïve girl… she was clueless. She had no idea what was going on. But Yoongi didn’t blame her. He related to her, if anything.

He spent his days homeschooled, hardly travelling, the only friends he was allowed being those who were, too, trained alongside him to be a killer. Family Members. The primary difference between he and she, though, was his Father actually cared for him. They were close. He would do anything for him. But that Y/N… everything Yoongi heard about her Father didn’t sit well with him. That man was a thief.

All the burgundy-haired lad wanted was his Father’s possession. Whatever the hell that was. And if it meant a war, he was willing to draw blood.

The elegant doors to the balcony opened and Yoongi didn’t spare a glance away from the gates half an acre away off in the distance. It was time. He already knew what was to be said.

“They’re here.”

* * *

“I’m almost there. Keep your distance.” Jackson didn’t give the cop any time to respond. He removed his ear piece and accelerated the car at a speed going beyond what was safe for any midday drivers. It was high noon, but the sun was masked by an overcast of taunting gray clouds. For an immensely cold and windy day, he’d forgone wearing a jacket. Of course, it wasn’t the first thing on his mind.

When he’d finally spotted the undercover cruiser some distance away from the unfamiliar grounds, he parked behind it and stayed in the vehicle. Jin and Jungkook must have realized his arrival, but remained unnoticeable beyond the tinted windows. Wang’s gaze darted towards the front gates of the three-story building spewing riches, but somehow still glum and dark.

He watched three vehicles displaying L/N tags stop before the massive iron gates. On the other side, two men approached, both carrying notably sized firearms. They were the guards.

Then, the doors to the vehicles opened, and out stepped faces he’d recognized from around the L/N household, and finally, the big man and his right hand themselves. Jackson grew anxious. He swallowed thickly. Was he about to see a battle break out?

* * *

Yoongi paced down the staircase with notable ease, the tension in the air doing nothing to disturb his composure. Following him were Taehyung and Namjoon, the half-brothers who excitedly smirked to one another in the midst of the commotion. Mins everywhere were preparing arms, cackling amongst themselves while lighting each other’s cigars. He surveyed his surroundings with mild appreciation of the men and women he could call his own now. They were all good people. Good people who knew how to love and live, but were viewed as the most bloodthirsty criminals. He felt himself smirk. Of course, they definitely enjoyed being viewed as such.

He stopped just short of the towering front doors, his men following suit. “Boss~” V questioned, tilting his head to the right. Yoongi rotated his neck and stretched his shoulders briefly, nodding for the Min at the door to let them through. The time had come.

* * *

You anxiously paced to and fro, having been escorted into the front hall. Mins surrounded you, some sneering your way, but most ignoring you entirely. You bit your lip, peering through the windows when a Min wasn’t in the way. “You know you’re just going to tire yourself out if you keep walking around like that.” An unfamiliar voice called from behind, undoubtedly directed towards you. You turned, scanning the wall until your eyes met those you recognized from days prior. Those gleaming eyes.

“Driver.” You acknowledged, leaving him to scoff and laugh. He kicked off the wall and strode your way, hands respectfully clenched behind his back as he bowed. You weren’t put off by his cheery presence, but it definitely stood out. “I’m glad you remembered. My name isn’t Driver, though. I go by Hoseok. Or, Hobi, depending on how daring you are.” He winked and shrugged, and you got a good look at his features; his legs were still as lanky as you remembered, his face lean and thin, nose strong and jaw sharp. “Hoseok…” You tested in a hushed whisper, and his face lit up.

“That’s the one!” He cheered, throwing a thumb’s up into the air. “I’m now in charge of you. Tabetha is lovely, I know, but now you can trust your hopes and dreams with me~.” You looked him up and down a few times, curious of his bizarre behavior.

“What’s going to happen?” You questioned, worriedly scanning the crowd around you again. Hobi’s long legs carried him beside you, where he stood and faced frontward. “You’re going to see your Father.”

* * *

He stalked into the brisk, cold air, his suit jacket opening a bit with the wind, and led his two closest men onto the grounds. They were still a way’s away from the entry gates, but even there he could see just a single round body being allowed entry onto the grounds. The iron bars echoed to a close behind the man. Yoongi had already told the guards to allow only the entrance of the Boss.

So far so good.

* * *

“Time to go.” When he said it, your eyes widened and you threw a questioning look his way. He offered a soft smile, nodding, flashing you his fancy wrist watch displaying a time that meant nothing to you. The Min Driver carefully rested a hand on your arm and began leading you to the door. The people around you gave no heed to your exit, presuming their conversations and patiently waiting… waiting for what?

Despite being complete overcast, the brightness of the sun reflecting behind the clouds made you blink a few times. Hobi helped you down the stairs, the chill of the air seeping in through your loosely fitted black dress, and you gripped his forearm when you took a near stumble. When your eyes adjusted, you counted four figures in the middle of the courtyard, and a number more even farther along the grounds. You instantly recognized the unruly auburn tendrils of the shorter man. And you then gasped, eyes tracing the round man before him. It really was your Father.

Hoseok’s grip loosened when he realized he didn’t need to encourage you on any further; your feet were moving on their own accord. It seemed as though it was several minutes until you’d actually stopped a few feet from the group.

It appeared the two Mob bosses were staring each other down, the intensity of their gazes as piercing as a rapier. They were discussing something, something you could not quite yet make out. Though, Hoseok called out a firm “Boss,”, and suddenly, all eyes were on you.

* * *

It took every ounce of strength and willpower for Jackson to remain seated. He bit back a string of curses when he noticed her disheveled, thin form from afar. It didn’t take a genius to realize how fucked up she appeared. Wang released a long exhale, leaning back in the seat. He would do everything in his power not to budge. But if anything happened to her, he would raise all hell.

* * *

Taehyung smiled at you and waved. Namjoon looked bored. Yoongi’s eyes lit up ever so slightly. Your Father’s face hardened. “What the hell did you do to her?” His voice boomed, and you swallowed.

Yoongi and the others turned back to the L/N. “Feed her. Shelter her. Allow her to bathe. Sound familiar?” Your Father snorted in annoyance. Yoongi continued, darkly. “She could be missing her fingers. She could be dead. But don’t worry; your behavior today decides what is to come of her.” A shiver went down your spine. You wanted to speak, but nervousness consumed you. You stared at the back of Yoongi’s head. Could he really do all that?

“Where is your Father?” The large man questioned sternly, a vein popping atop his balding head. There was noticeable sweat forming on his brow. It was the first time you’d seen your dad so anxious.

“He’s dead. This is mine now.” Yoongi answered simply, gesturing to the mansion behind him. A grunt came from your Father, his fists balled at his sides. Yoongi was undisturbed.

“I have an entire Family in there waiting to kill you. If you do not cooperate, they will not hesitate to come out.” You felt your heart skip, piecing together why the Mins were crowded at the front of the house. They were getting ready.

“Why the sudden mercy?” Your Father questioned, eyeing the doors behind you. “You could’ve killed us all by now.”

“I prefer not having a thief’s blood spilt on the Min grounds. It would ruin the soil.” Taehyung released a noise of amusement, Namjoon quickly reaching over to jab him in the side. Yoongi went on, his tone dangerous. “I’m giving you one choice: peace or war.”  

You expected your Father to come back with a nasty retort, to deny all and use his pride as a weapon. Instead, his pupils wavered, his jaw going slack. Your mind reeled. Why wasn’t he fighting? What happened to that merciless Boss man with years of unyielding glory behind his belt? Then it hit you. He couldn’t deny it, because it was the obvious truth.

“Dad!” You cried out, voice cracking. You felt an onslaught of tears. He looked up at you, hurt filling his eyes, as did the others, and you tore away from Hoseok. “Just give him what you took!” Nothing mattered to you anymore, other than getting the hell out of there and seeing Jackson. You had to see him again. You had to get out. “Give him what he fucking wants!” You cried, your hands gripping the expensive fabric of his coat. You shook violently, a calloused palm appearing on your shoulder to calm you down.

After a few breaths, you plead to your only surviving guardian figure with your burning eyes. You plead.

And then, in the weakest voice you ever heard, he said, “He’s already taken it.”

You drew back, confused. Everyone else was confused. Before you could speak, the man continued, only to you. “Angie and I adopted you. You were a plan from the start.” Your mind went blank, and the news only became more surprising. “We needed a vessel to hide the treasure. The Min crest was surgically implanted into your abdomen when you were an infant. It is still there to this day. I’m sorry, but we had our reasons.”

Silence shrouded you. There was a distinct ringing in your ears.

Your childhood was a lie.

Your Family was a lie.

Your life was a lie.

Throbbing presented itself all too familiarly, the spot in your stomach threatening to suddenly explode. Though you then guessed it was the spot next to your stomach, where the little diamond crest was innocently taunting you and had been for the past decades of your life. It laughed and stabbed your insides, causing you to jerk away and grip at it desperately. You released a horrified scream, the diamond being no larger than a quarter and yet so excruciatingly aggravating, it mainly just pissed you off.

You turned so quickly, eyes catching the glint of a shiny stiletto peeking from Namjoon’s pocket. Without hesitation, you lunged for it, successfully peeling it from him and switching it open so it could view the horrible world. A chorus of yells other protests erupted around you, but you took no heed of them, driving the blade so deep within yourself, all you saw was red. It took only a brief moment to salvage the long lost rock that had been embedded within you, pain meaning nothing as the blood-coated diamond reflected the storm clouds overhead. Then, with fury, you chucked the fucking thing as far as you could, collapsing onto your knees with blackened eyes and endless pants. Shock surrounded you, as no man moved, all horrified with the sight before them. You weren’t losing consciousness yet, and you could see your Father’s… whoever the hell he was, eyes bugged out in disbelief. You watched him, wondering if he’d regretted anything. If he was truly sorry.

Then, the sound of gunfire.

The large man’s knees buckled, the ground shaking beneath him as he crumbled. There was a sizeable gape in his forehead, the bullet shamelessly revealing his insides as he outwardly became limp and lifeless.

Your Father was dead.

The ringing in your ears did not cease, but it did not drown out the shouting and rapid gunfire coming from all sides. The Mansion, the gates. A war was unleashed. And you were bleeding to death in the middle of it.


	8. Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Angie and I adopted you. You were a plan from the start.” Your mind went blank, and the news only became more surprising. “We needed a vessel to hide the treasure. The Min crest was surgically implanted into your abdomen when you were an infant. It is still there to this day. I’m sorry, but we had our reasons.”
> 
> Silence shrouded you. There was a distinct ringing in your ears.
> 
> Your childhood was a lie.
> 
> Your Family was a lie.
> 
> Your life was a lie.
> 
> …
> 
> You turned so quickly, eyes catching the glint of a shiny stiletto peeking from Namjoon’s pocket. Without hesitation, you lunged for it, successfully peeling it from him and switching it open so it could view the horrible world. A chorus of yells other protests erupted around you, but you took no heed of them, driving the blade so deep within yourself, all you saw was red. It took only a brief moment to salvage the long lost rock that had been embedded within you, pain meaning nothing as the blood-coated diamond reflected the storm clouds overhead.
> 
> …
> 
> The sound of gunfire.
> 
> The large man’s knees buckled, the ground shaking beneath him as he crumbled. There was a sizeable gape in his forehead, the bullet shamelessly revealing his insides as he outwardly became limp and lifeless.
> 
> Your Father was dead.
> 
> The ringing in your ears did not cease, but it did not drown out the shouting and rapid gunfire coming from all sides. The Mansion, the gates. A war was unleashed. And you were bleeding to death in the middle of it.
> 
> A/N: This chapter contains character death. RIP. This chapter also contains smut. Prepare your holes, Yoongi stans ;^).
> 
> Trigger Warning: Attempted suicide. Nothing wild but… just so you know.

“Get down!” Your chin scraped against the concrete as wind passed through your body, the warm weight on your back crushing you to the earth. You were silently screaming, and gasping, when your exposed flesh became matted with small pebbles. Yoongi’s breath was soon in your ear, but you could hardly hear his words to his men as a storm of gunfire exploded from either side. Then, with a jumble of limbs, you were being lifted from the ground, the Min mob boss supporting your weight as his two trusted men clamored over to the both of you, pointedly firing their handguns in attempt to cover their superior. And yourself, you supposed.

“Go!” Yoongi shoved you before him, grasping your shoulders to steer you as you wobbled around. Namjoon came around to your other side, almost lifting you with him as he sped along in a half-ducking run. Lead whistled by your ears, a tinge of fear finally pricking somewhere in your chest as realization struck you were being led back to the mansion and away from the battle zone. You glanced up, watching the onslaught of Mins charging past you onto the field, your blurry vision doing nothing to dismay the sight of a bloodthirsty swarm.

* * *

“No! Y/N No!” Jackson tore out of the vehicle and made a bee-line towards the gates. He faintly heard Jin and Jungkook calling after him, but when he saw her from afar, being carried back to the mansion, his feet were already moving on their own. Though his advances were cut short when his elbow was caught and he was thrown back, swearing obscenities at the young police officer who stopped him. Jin caught up and tackled him to the ground when he aimed a fist at Jungkook’s face, screaming protests in his ear.

Shortly after, Jackson’s lips were caked with dirt and his eyes were watering as the outline of the girl drifted further and further away. “Please, I have to save her!” He begged, his voice wearing out. Jin sighed, releasing the pin he had on his superior’s wrists, but making no move to stand. In a defeated voice, he said, “You and I both know this is something they have to settle themselves.”

* * *

“Fuck!” Namjoon swore, and suddenly you were tumbling forward. You probably would have been feeling more pain, had you not been losing consciousness at a dangerous rate, and your chest made impact with the ground again. You sprawled out, motionless and tired. Namjoon hobbled a bit, having tossed you when a bullet shattered through his left shin, and Taehyung came round to urge him on. Hoseok darted from God knows where and clutched Yoongi around his shoulder, bringing him along and forgetting one thing; you. You watched exhaustedly as Yoongi fought against his men and continuously threw his eyes over his shoulder, keeping contact with you as he yelled protests that were only mere echoes of his raspy tone in the field of flying bullets.

Your eyes closed—the disorientation throwing off the balance of the world, and you opted to remain still until you bled out. That would be the end of it. Well, it would have been, until yet another set of sturdy arms hurled you to your feet. You couldn’t see him, you couldn’t hear him, but you recognized the scent of your Father’s right hand man, and you couldn’t help but to cry out in relief. He jarred you back to life with a few pats on your brazen cheeks, his face coming in close enough for you to confirm your suspicions and allow the hazy outline to focus.

“Junior.” You slurred, and he took no time to wrap his arms protectively around you, but he suddenly shifted, his eyes catching something yours did not. He cursed and there was incomprehensible shouting coming from all sides. Then you felt him tighten his hold on you, his figure looming over yours like a safety blanket. You felt secure in his arms, and you breathed in the musky scent of warrior and blood. You wanted him to hold onto you forever, but his arms went lax, and he brought you down with him.

Confusion filled you. His weight crushed you, and he was not moving. Realization hit. “No.” You whispered, clammy fingers shaking as they took ahold of both his cheeks, a desperate attempt to lock with his cold eyes. There was nothing there. They were closed. “No!” You screamed his name over, finally surfacing enough strength to turn him off of you so you could glare at the glossy exit hole in his chest. His fancy undershirt was oozing with a puddle of death, and you cried into his chest, fingers clawing at his vest. He wouldn’t respond. He would never again.

You fell atop him, kissing his pale lips twice, and allowed your tears to mark his face. Your blood was mixing with his in an oddly enticing puddle on the concrete. You couldn’t go on. Not now. Not when death was extending his comforting arms. You went numb. There was no longer pain in your heart for your lost friend. Absolutely fucking nothing for your Father. Jackson was even a murmur amidst the screeching silence in your ears. You were unfeeling. You were dying.

Darkness consoled you and you drifted into a silent sleep.

* * *

“—you go. There you go, come on… Almost there.” Your toes wiggled. Fingers seeking something unbeknownst to you. “You’re gonna feel like shit but you’re alive… try to open your eyes.” You did not recognize this voice. It was quiet, but not the kind of quiet marking a shy man. There was a hint of playfulness to his tone— despite the severity of the situation—alongside a steady beeping resounding without echo in the room. It finally dawned on you; you were not dead. Your eyes were not met with the brightness of a hospital room as you would have expected, but instead, a gray bunker that held an equal amount of coldness and warmth.

You blinked several times.

“And there she goes!” You peered over to him, waiting moments for his silhouette to come into focus. He was young, donned in a white doctor’s coat that had a few mustard stains at the collar. His eyes were shining bright as he leaned forward, his chin sitting between his fists like a child excitedly waiting for the end of the school day. “And how are you missy? Probably feeling like crap, huh?” Your lips were sealed and you glanced around for something to drink, eyes setting on the glass of water on the nightstand. You tried to reach, only going as far as doing something close to a grimace before giving up, eyeing the young doctor. He understood immediately, eyes lighting up as you allowed him to bring the glass to your lips.

It felt like fire going down your throat, but you winced through it until the sand paper beyond your tongue was drenched. You nodded for him to back off, brain registering the slight tug of the IV in your arm and several other cords hooked up around you.

“Did you save me? How did I get here?” You asked when your voice returned to you in riddled rasps. The man looked down with a shy smile and nodded only once, scooting back on his swivel chair. “I did. And just in a nick of time, too. You were basically a goner.” He took a breath, a look of amusement twinkling in his soft, round eyes. “As for dragging your ass here? That was Mr. Min himself.”

Something inside you claimed not to be surprised by the news. Yet you still found yourself looking to where your thumbs were pinching the white cotton of a baggy dress adorning your figure under the sheets, an unknown feeling blanketing you. The events were no more than a blur. If Yoongi found reason to singlehandedly drag your limp body from the battlefield, pigs must be capable of flight now. You sighed.

The man’s smile disappeared for a moment as he gave you a very calculating gaze. You held it strongly. “Ha. I see why the Boss has taken a likin’ to ya.” He gave you a pat on the shoulder after giggling at your questioning glance. Then he continued. “It took more than just the practice of medicine to revive you. More than the magic of my hands, too.” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. You blinked. He seemed like such a child. “You are stronger than any one of us would have guessed. That fucking willpower of yours could topple a skyscraper.”

“What?”

He smirked, eyes lidding momentarily as he scooted himself closer. “You’re one interesting lassie… I’m Youngjae, Min Family’s personal doctor. Ex-Special Forces surgeon.” You debated whether or not to believe him. He looked too young to have been in the military, let alone the Special Forces. But you bit your tongue… some people did have uncommon circumstances.

“How long has it been since…”

Since what? You looked to your thumbs, the little abrasions along your hands being no more than simple scabs. You swallowed thickly.

Youngjae’s expression went still as he uncrossed his ankles and looked somewhere along the far side of the room.

“Since the war? Three days. Which surprises me that you’ve not yet made a break for that sandwich I brought. You must be hungry!” You shook your head. That wasn’t what weighed on your mind and he knew it.

“How many people died?” You pondered aloud, quietly.

His face finally fell, so much that you almost regretted asking. But, he answered you anyway, after a moment of tapping his foot aimlessly.

“Your side? No clue. Ours? A handful. They were burned the morning after.” The young doctor sighed, bringing his hand to his neatly combed hair. Despite not being blood related for the most part, it’s still almost as though you were to lose a sibling, a relative… You watched him sympathetically, as though he would cry. But Youngjae didn’t. He met your eyes after what seemed like an eternity of silence.

Then he cracked a smile. “You did one hell of a job tossing that diamond of ours, though. Yoongi was not pleased to hear it hasn’t been discovered. What are you, a baseball star?” The words made your lip quirk, and he was happy to see some expression from you. You wondered what Yoongi was up to. And, of course, why he hadn’t killed you yet.

Another thought hit you, harder than a freight train. “What about my Family… their bodies?” The answer you were looking for was one you were positive you would not like to hear. But you had to know.

Youngjae visibly gulped. He looked away for a fraction of a second, waging an internal battle with himself. He took a sip of water from your glass and gave you an honest glance. “We didn’t touch them. The Boss insisted. We left them to your folks. Your dad too.”

How could you have forgotten? Your dad fucking died. Dad? No, he was far from that. He was a liar. He caused everything. He made you live a false life.

Despite the anger, dread consumed your insides… familiarly. “Junior…” a whisper to yourself, and suddenly you wanted to be alone. Fuck that. You always wanted to be alone. “Go… now.” A quiet demand, and the young doctor gave you a puzzling look. “Please.” You added, turning away and shielding the tears from his view. He hesitated and then nodded sadly, leaving the room without another word.

You would have felt bad for sending him away. He seemed like a good kid. But he was still a Min. Mins were the bad guys, right? Right? No. They only wanted revenge. It was your Father’s fault. All of it. You hated him. You hating living this life for him. You hated losing Junior. You hated missing Jackson.

You hated waking up from your peaceful slumber.

Tears painted your cheeks the rest of the evening, not one person coming to disturb you. Then, you took a bite of the sandwich Youngjae brought, and finished it off before crying some more and then falling into a restless sleep.

* * *

The platinum blonde agent surveyed the grounds of the mansion half an hour after the final man fell. It smelled of rust and gunpowder. The Mins were first to collect their folks, glaring down the L/Ns from a distance as they carted their members back into the house. Around him, L/Ns were mournfully hauling corpses from the land and moving them into the backs of SUVs that showed up afterward. It was strange to see the two Families not lunging for each other’s throats. A mutual understanding only conveyed between Mafia gangs existed as they dutifully retrieved every lost Member. In the end, the Mins retreated back into their mansion, and the L/Ns were too distraught about the death of their leader to go after them.

No one paid Jackson any mind. Jin and Jungkook had left to report to Director Park Jimin long before, and no one gave the Agent a second glance as he trudged towards the gates of the Min Family mansion.

His eyes bore into the damnable fortress. He knew he was being watched, his every move bringing an itchy trigger finger to twitch. He did not care. Jackson stepped over the puddles of blood that seeped through the crevices of the concrete , eyeing a familiar face. A frowned marked his features. He kneeled down, and with a hush of a whisper, said, “You protected her. Thank you.” His hand came down and rested atop the second’s chest, his eyes scrunched up as he bid his farewell. Then, he stilled. He pressed his palm further into the vest of the fallen man and cursed. “Hey! I need help over here, quick!” He called over his shoulder, catching a few L/Ns’ attention. He turned back to Junior, closing two fingers atop a slow heartbeat under his jaw. “I can’t fucking believe it.” He whispered in astonishment and backed away when the Family Members clamored over to provide medical attention.

After Junior was sent back to the mansion, Jackson made way for his vehicle, at loss for his next move. He wanted Y/N to know her friend was alright. His heart was torn at the thought she may never be aware. Jackson cursed again, remembering the sight of her boldly jamming a knife into her abdomen. He hoped those damn Mins who drove her to such extremes would have enough decency to provide medical attention. Some sick feeling in his gut made him think otherwise, though, and he grew angry again.

He eyed the ground as he kicked a few pebbles, stopping when one of the stones glistened in the overcast and sparkled unlike the rest. Then, he kneeled, his elbows resting atop his firm thighs as he brushed some dust off the rock and cursed. “Well I’ll be damned.” He subtly glanced around, fingering the thing before raising and cautiously slipping the Min encrusted diamond into his pocket.

* * *

You stared at yourself in the mirror for a long time. Far longer than you wanted to, and far longer than necessary. Well, one thing’s for certain, you thought; you looked like shit. Someone had the decency to wipe your skin clean of blood and debris, but your cheeks were sunken in and your eyes seemed hollowed out.

You looked as dead as you wished to be.

With a sigh, you rubbed your hand an inch into your scalp before it was already tangled in a mass of unruly hair. You glanced down at your nakedness, fingering the bandage around your angular waist. No need for that in the bath.

You had already disposed yourself of the loose fitted gown someone had dressed you in for your days under Youngjae’s medical attention. Said doctor was one of the few you’d seen in all your waking hours, the rest being some unfamiliar maids who would wordlessly adjust your pillows and bring your meals. Not that’d you’d ever have the heart to finish them, though. Junior’s death still weighed heavily on your mind. You like to think you’ve gotten over it, but that thought always just ends up being a coin in a bottomless wishing well.

Mentally thanking Youngjae for finally allowing you out of bed (and for removing those god awful IVs), you immediately stripped in the bathroom, grateful for its polished privacy. It smelled of a minty musk that reminded you of an obvious someone. You knew from your second day of consciousness you were residing in Min Yoongi’s personal quarters. The room felt like him, and it scared you how comfortable you were in its presence.

You shook away your thoughts, padding over the gray tile to sink a foot into the steaming pool that had finished its accent to the top of the marble tub. The temperature warmed you, and you wasted no time slinking inward to meet its caress.

It must have taken more than a few minutes to force your tendrils into silkiness again, as they swirled around you in a subtle refreshing essence you found atop the shelf. Memories slugged into your brain of the time you and Jackson shared that shower—a context you would have truly found to be questionable had it not been the truth. Your heart lurched at the mental image of him embracing you like no man’s done before.

It made you quiver in yearning. And dread. The thought of him brought you as much disparity as it did hope, and that only made you sink further into the abyss. When your head dipped beneath the calm surface of the steaming bath, you let it sit there until your lungs fought against you. It was a relaxing feeling.

You came up for air and went down again, staying longer. Air, and down again, until your vision was fading and your body refused your fighting. It was calm underneath. And so warm around you. The silence drowned out your thoughts, and you only wanted to be taken in even further, your knuckles going loose on the edge of the marble.

And then you were up, on high alert as someone thrashed to remove you from the tub. Cold air seeped into your skin immediately, and you recoiled from the pale light of the bathroom as best you could. Youngjae was seething self-deprecating words as he scrambled to wrap a towel around your form. Then, he was whispering comfort against your hairline as he crammed you to his warm chest, and you sobbed against him without a filter. You were so close.

Later on, you were donning a fluffy black robe atop Yoongi’s massive four post bed. Your eyes were closed but you were not asleep. You strained to hear Youngjae and Namjoon outside the room. They weren’t arguing, but Youngjae was a bit panicked with his words as Namjoon only questioned him a few times. “Hyung, I’m not even kidding… all she was saying. She just kept repeating names when she was cr… ” The doctor hushed even quieter and you couldn’t make out what he’d said, but Namjoon responded only with, “I’ll tell Yoongi. He’ll settle this himself.” There was nothing after that, but then the door opened, and you stiffened, feigning slumber.

It took a few seconds for the heavy footfalls to reach the bedside and when they did, you could sense the body hovering there. Then, there was a large hand atop your head, and it was gentle. It could’ve been Youngjae, but you dismissed the idea as soon as a voice met the action. “Why did you have to make our lives so complicated?” Namjoon tucked some hair behind your ear and you fought wincing away. This was all wrong. The gesture was too comforting to belong to a psychopath with a thirst for blood. No, you refused to put the two together, and barely managed to maintain even breathing until after he’d left the room.

* * *

You knew it was late in the evening when the door reopened and the Min Mob Boss made his first appearance in days. The quarters were not always shrouded in complete darkness, but when the hours of daylight were in for their run, warm streaks of pale white would sliver through crevices in the charcoal colored drapes.

You were facing away from the door, and it took you moments to register someone had actually entered. When you did, you made no move, remaining as still as the corpse you wished to be. In fact, the only aspect of the on-comer’s intrusion that hindered your focus was the s _cent_ that brought your eyelids fluttering to a close. It was him.

He said nothing, and you counted the number of steps his stride made to stand at your bedside. Then, panic suddenly exploded within you when the frail dimness of the nightstand lamp cut out. But you maintained stillness, your eyes staring straight ahead into darkness as the man peeled the covers from your form and pressed his body onto the bed. It took him a moment to settle in, and when he had ceased motion, your back was to his chest and you felt his lazy intake of air at the base of your neck. You refused the urge to curl into his chilling warmth—as tempting as it was.

“I know you’re awake.” You felt him more than you heard him, and you shivered. Fleeting thoughts of your bodyguard holding you in a similar position came into mind, but you dismissed them with a thick swallow.

“I don’t mean to be.” You respond quietly. Yoongi brought his arm around you, his fingers ghosting across the expanse of your stomach, and you could really feel all of him; his taut muscles beyond his loose hanging T shirt, his radiating warmth that had you melting in place… You tried to shake him from your thoughts, silently reprimanding yourself for finding comfort in his embrace. But was he really so bad?

“You haven’t been sleeping.” He stated the obvious as though it were in neon letters on the back of your head. You merely shrugged. He continued. “If I had known you’d be this way, I wouldn’t have let you steal my bed all this time.” His tone was icy, yet somehow lacking venom. You shifted slightly, and he paused his fingers that had been dancing atop your nightgown.

“You’re the one who forced me here.” You muttered with a slight pout. Something about him chuckling afterward sent another shiver through you. The sound was majestic.

“Yeah, I did. Sorry if you would have preferred the med bay… it’s a bit crowded there these days.” Your eyes lidded for a moment, wondering if that little hint of sadness in his voice was part of your imagination.

Yoongi was silent for minutes, his fingers on your stomach growing progressively lazy until they came to an ultimate cease. You wondered if he fell asleep. Well, he had every right to, of course—it was his bed. You sighed and pressed a hand into your eye sockets, warding away pricking tears as your brain did the routine thing of reminiscing unforgivable memories.

There was breathing in your ear as Yoongi shifted closer.

“Why did you try to kill yourself today?”

Your eyes flew open and you stared into darkness. So that’s what you were trying to do. Huh. You didn’t know how to answer logically—as drowning yourself in his bathtub didn’t seem too enjoyable to explain anyways—so you remained silent. But that didn’t stop him.

“Was it because your father died?”

You stiffened, “No.”

The man seemed to be pondering this answer. Then, you felt his nose at the crook of your neck. Was he always so damn clingy? Normally you’d be flustered, edging away. But you couldn’t move.  _Maybe you just cared so little these days._

“Was it because of that man who protected you?” You knew exactly who he was speaking of and fought a sob. He must have felt you shudder, and he drew back slightly. Well, he had his answer. You still responded with a quiet negative. In your heart you knew Junior’s death was a driving factor towards your attempted demise, but there was more to it than that. You could by no means live a normal life. You would be haunted by the deaths your existence caused. The only living man you felt for was probably packing his bags and getting tickets out of your life at that very moment. You were just fucked up. Beyond repair. And you didn’t want to trouble anyone else.

There were hot tears streaking down your cheeks as you trembled. “Kill me.” You turned, facing the shadow of the man before you. “Kill me, please.” You begged again, bringing your palms to his cheeks as your lifeless soul stared into his moonlit black orbs. He said nothing, and he let you clench his shoulders as you sobbed into his collarbone. “I’ve got nothing left. I’m ruined.”

It started as a small pat atop your head, then transitioned to smooth circles being rubbed into your back. Yoongi consoled you with his gentle caresses that so went against the image of the mob boss he made himself to be. “Just… make me… forget.” You tried again, through prominent shaky breaths. There was a moment where being in the black void that was Yoongi’s bedroom brought you solace, but all you felt, despite being in his arms, was despair.

Then, you were being shifted onto your back, and you caught a sliver of moonlight on Yoongi’s face as he hovered above you. You swallowed back a cry as you realized his hands were creeping over your shoulders and onto your neck. You realized he was actually going to do it, and that’s when you fell silent. His thumbs pressed into your little soft spots as you stared up at him, his face no more than glaring black eyes. And just when you thought he was going to add more pressure, to sever your connection to the air, his palms gently trailed over your jaw and clasped your cheeks.

“What are you doing?” You slurred, so distraught by the sensation rumbling within you. Yoongi was suddenly a breath away, his nose against yours. In his most hushed whisper, “Making you forget.”

You thought he was going to claim your lips, but he instead attached his to the underside of your jaw, sucking the life from you and forcing a new feeling to blossom. You churned in his hands, as he sensually groped you where your skin was exposed.

You gasped out, and a few remnants of tears were lost as you threw your face into the pillow. He was quickly discarding you of your nightgown, the numb areas immediately reconciling with his warm skin pressed against yours. You should’ve been questioning him—hell, you should have been fighting him. But as his fingers dipped within you, you threw away these thoughts,  _because with every new stroke, you were forgetting what weighed heavily on your mind._

His fingers were long, curled, sliding between your folds, and you gasped. It was when he felt a rush a slickness he decided to pinch the sides of your plain underwear to expose your body even farther. You glanced at him through tired, hooded eyes and observed how carefully he admired you.

The moon complimented his paleness in streaks, his expression lax and lazy, but his eyes blazing an oozing blackness.

You swallowed thickly, a moan tearing through your throat as your previous thoughts of despair were quickly replaced with the things you wanted this man to do to you.

Yoongi, with both care and haste, lathered the smooth skin of your thighs with his lips. Tantalizing kisses were pressed against the flesh, and with each, a spark of electricity. His fingers eased, danced, across your skin—an unknown melody being played. With his lips, moist and pink, he pressed delicately against your delicacy. “Ah,” You bit back, fingers seeking solace in his tendrils. You scraped his scalp, encouraging that he continue, and he did, with such perseverance you’d have thought he was speaking wordless poetry against you.

Wordless, yes; meaningful, yes.

As you squirmed beneath, he sped the lapping of his tongue; the ecstasy of gold. Then he was looking at you, his gaze intense, focused and hazed all at once. Your lip was caught between your teeth, entranced by the man before you, fingers curling around his silky bedding. Yoongi’s nose brushed your nub, the little thing having been sensitive and overplayed with, and you whined after him. At the sound, though, his eyes flashed and he moved up your body and was quick to free his torso of clothing, the moonlight claiming his paleness as its own.

“Y—Yoongi,” You whispered, for all and no reason at all; his beauty was that of a god’s, but his eyes were that of a devil’s. The man stared down at you, as if devouring you with his gaze alone, and you built a sweat in anticipation. In that moment, nothing else mattered; nothing but what you wanted the mob boss to do to you. You wanted to be his.

Before him, you were nude; discarded of your nightgown, with no need to wear any undergarments, you locked eyes with him. He was being patient, and taking his time; he was giving you a chance to stop him. You dared not to.

Without hesitation, your arms came down, elbows bent by the sides of your head. You spread your legs and opened yourself to him; a submission. At this, Yoongi groaned and bent forward to claim your neck once more, making do with that as he rid himself of the rest of his clothing.

“You taste delicious, Y/N.” He spoke and you shivered, his arms coming to encircle your waist.

You moaned out, envisioning everything already, and hoisted a leg around his hip, drawing his poised erection against your core. The contact was warm, your slick moistening him immediately, and he hissed at the stimulation.

“Please, Yoongi, I can’t wait any longer—please,” You begged, voice so lust-drunken you almost didn’t recognize it.

“Tell me, Y/N. What do you want from me?” You could’ve screamed in frustration; how dare he have the audacity to tease you in such a fragile state?

“Fuck me,” You growled, “Until I forget my own name.”

At this, he let a light chuckle leave his lips, pulling away from your neck to situate himself properly betwixt your legs. His fingers clutched your hips and you melted in the warmth he offered. “Don’t worry, baby.” He grabbed himself, his member just barely easing into your core. “My name’s gonna be the only one you’ll remember tonight.”

He slid in so easily, so fluidly, and the both of you released a simultaneous groan. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” He breathed out, dipping forward to place kisses at the juncture of your collar bones. Concentration masked his features as he pulled out and thrusted in again. “Gah… Yoongi, you feel so good.” You found yourself slurring, back arching off the bed.

He thrusted in sharply, twitching within you, and you cried out, feeling so full and pleasured you weren’t even sure how to reciprocate. But you wanted to.

Your hips began meeting his pace, one which was not slow and was not fast, but hard and demanding all the same. Then your fingers traced his skin, his glorious skin which was coated in the lightest sheen of perspiration. It was hot; everything was so hot. His grip sought your hip as he went harder, deeper, and he hooked your knee around his shoulder, swearing and growling when you became impossibly tighter for him.

All for him.

Yoongi ceased for a moment, a moment where you whined out in protest, and his feet flexed against the sheets as he bent you, manipulated you. Then, he let loose.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last—!” And neither were you, you discovered; a burn in your abdomen as he rammed his pelvis against yours so hard you were bound to be bruised. The sounds were of moans, groans, growls, and skin— _skin_ slapping and gliding slickly across more  _skin._

The moonlight caught his features again and you stared up at his ethereal beauty—but another thought flitted across your mind. It was so sudden; so random, and you cursed yourself for forgetting. Jackson. You missed Jackson.

Your eyes watered up as you released, a hefty cry draining from your lips. It took Yoongi several more strokes before he freed himself of your confines and came over your thighs, the substance oozing down and tainting the bed sheets.

You were lost in your mind, numbness consuming you. It was divine; cloud nine; after spending far too long tethered to the Earth. You faintly regarded Yoongi pressing a damp material to your sticky thighs, heart fluttering by his actions, but you were swamped with the memories of Jackson. You were crying, and when much time had passed, and you were calmed, you were in the arms of the Min mob boss as he silently comforted you.

“You’re still awake?” you sniffled, immediately apologetic. “I’m sorry I kept you up, I—” He shushed you. He had been wiping your tears from your pink cheeks and you didn’t even realize it. Once you settled down, and more time passed, it was peaceful, and you finally allowed yourself to relax against his chest.

“I know you’re in love with someone else.” He stated, and you didn’t respond. “I can see it in your eyes. Hear it in your voice.” There was nothing in his tone; it was just as lax and impassive as it normally was. But still; something about his words upset you. You wanted him to feel something. You wanted to feel his response to you loving someone else.

You tucked your head beneath his chin and breathed gently against his collarbones, fingers tapping against his arm.

Yes, you were in love with someone else. And you missed him deeply. You yearned for him.

Yoongi fell asleep shortly after, and you glanced up to where his eyelashes were tickling his cheeks. You loved Jackson. Being with Yoongi made you realize that. But being with Yoongi also made you realize something else.

“I love him… And I want you.” You whispered. You knew you couldn’t have both, but in the moment, the thought is what kept your mind at ease, and you finally put your miseries to rest. You fell asleep in the arms of the Min mob boss, a place you never imagined to be, but a place you now cannot be without.


	9. End

It was dawn that broke when Jackson stared down a conference table into the bored eyes of Director Park Jimin. Early as it was, neither had slept. What with the waging of war between the Mins and L/Ns, the department teetered nervously on the edge of involvement. Jimin sipped delicately from his tea, a small porcelain cup with simple floral engravings, and a vein in his agent’s forehead was becoming prominent. Jimin was not a simple man, and he made sure it was known.

“Tell me,” the blonde carefully seethed, patience dwindling. There was no need to further an explanation. It was evident what he referring to:  _why did he know Y/N was special?_  With a blink, and a purse of his plump lips, Jimin parted the tea from his mouth and returned it to the tray before him, signaling for his attendants to leave the conference room.

Jackson crossed his arms over his chest, his black crew neck tee pulling against his pectorals, and sat back in his chair. Listening.

Finally, with a sigh, Jimin folded his hands before him. “I inherited the reign over this task force from my father. He ran this agency and knew the inside-outs of every district in the land. Then he died.” He paused, examining his diamond encrusted wrist watch. “Tell me, Agent Wang, have you ever wondered why we manage to maintain good terms with the L/Ns?”

Yes, the thought has perused his mind, but Jackson never delved deep into it. There must have been a reason the L/N mob boss came to the agency for assistance, and why the agency was so complacent. Jimin continued.

“As it turns out, my father aided the L/Ns in the last war. They offered him a pretty penny, just for some weaponry and extra men; my father was happy to help.”

At this, Jackson rose a brow and Jimin rose from his seat. His back turned to the agent as he peered through the blinds of the windows, examining the lines of cubicles that would surely be bustling with activity once his employees began filing in at a later time. He sighed.

“My father befriended Mr. L/N. They would drink coffee and have discussions every week at the mansion. Sometimes, I would tag along, too. This went on for years. I even remember seeing Y/N around, in the frilly little skirts befitting a seven year old.” There was a tick of annoyance that flared through the blonde. Then the whirring of a coffee brewer resounded in the distance, and Jackson ached for caffeine. That would have to wait, though; Jimin went on.

“When I came of age, there was even talk of a marriage—something to bind the Agency and the Mob and secure superiority in the district. She is a beautiful girl. It’s a tragedy it fell through with the death of my father.” He smirked, his tone condescending as he peered back at Wang, whose lips were firmly pressed.

“Can you just tell me what I deserve to know?” He gritted out. Jimin’s face fell for a moment before he  _tsked_  and returned back to his chair at the head of the conference table.

“My father told me something before he died. He told me that the L/Ns stole the greatest treasure belonging to the Mins—to ensure their victory in that war all those years ago. He also told me, that they, in doing such, would spur yet another outbreak of conflict at any unprecedented time. That time is now.” Jimin made an expression that Jackson had not yet seen grace his youthful features. He appeared exasperated as he removed his glasses and pressed a forefinger to his temple. “I knew that Y/N had the crest implanted within her. And that she had been lied to her entire life.”

Sympathy filled Jackson as he heard the other man out. To think; she could have just lived as a happy child with some other family instead of being dragged into this madness. “Then why stay quiet, Park? She deserved so much more than—”

“I had to.” Jimin spoke quickly, confliction masking his face. He took a breath. “I had to, because my Father said it was a mistake to become involved with the mobs. To befriend the L/Ns. He knew he was risking our lives every time he stepped foot in that mansion, and when he discovered he was in stage three, he told me it was a mistake. This company,” He tiredly gestured around him, “he knew I was next in line, and he didn’t want me taking those risks. He at least cared that much.”

“Then why,” Jackson leaned forward, “why did you agree to work with the L/Ns to protect Y/N? Why did you choose me for the job?”

A heavy silence filled the room as Jimin replaced his specs, positioning them properly atop the curve of his nose. “I felt obligated to hear him out… Mr. L/N spoke so highly of my father, and told me of times he wasn’t such a hard-ass. Then he told me about Y/N. I felt bad for her. Though, the boss probably had no clue I knew what he’d done to her but… I felt it was my place to do some right for her. And the reason I chose you is because I trust you, Wang. I thought you could grant her something she’d never had before: someone to trust.”

At this, Jackson relaxed and thought it over. She did trust him, right? The glint in her eyes when she smiled at him, or told him a joke he could only internally chortle at. The way she subconsciously moved closer to him when they stood in a crowded room, like he was her shelter, her protection. He would do anything to be able to hold her again, to feel her alive and smiling around him.

“But,” Jimin spoke, “I can see where that’s gotten us today. I should’ve listened to my father about this. Not only did I put my agency at risk, but I put a target on my best agent.” He looked directly into the eyes of the other man, and it was then Jackson could see the regret burning in his vision.

Wang rose to his feet, the legs of his chair unceremoniously scraping the tile, and he turned towards the door. “You did nothing wrong, Park.” He spoke earnestly, stopping at the entrance to look back at his superior. “If anything, I owe you. You’re the one who brought me to her.”

There was a tiny lift in the otherwise straight lips of the Director. “So you have fallen in love with her?”

Jackson faced away, “Affirmative.”

“And you won’t listen to me if I say to stay out of it?”

“Affirmative. I will resign if I must.”

Jimin chuckled to himself, folding his arms over his chest. “You should know I’m not one for paperwork; two weeks, unpaid, suspension. Don’t involve anyone else in HQ.”

Jackson nearly went bug-eyed as he stared back to see the grinning features of his boss. “Director?”

Jimin shook his head. “I’ve always admired your dedication to work. Go get her back, Wang.”

Jackson fingered the Min crest that was stowed in his pocket, turning towards the door again. “Affirmative.”

* * *

Four day passed and Youngjae was happily removing the staples from your abdomen. “Aaaand done!” He made a fist bump motion and you giggled atop the examination table. You were healing up strikingly well, the color having been returned to your cheeks and your figure filling out once more. It only took three very hefty meals a day excitedly provided by the doctor.

“I feel great; thanks so much, Dr. Youngjae,” You smirked as his eyes lit up, and he fired a playful wink your way.

“That’s what myself and my magical hands are here for.” He chuckled and wiggled his fingers a bit, moving to then bandage your sensitive skin. When he was done, you released your tee shirt and stood from the table, watching as he assembled his belongings while singing to himself.

“Right, so, you should try not to get anything in that since it’s still exposed to the threat of infection, but the bruising and tenderness will go away within a week. You’re free to dance and peruse as you wish. You can change the bandages nightly, but I’ll still come by next week to see if it’s oozing or doing gross things, okay?” He smiled your way and you couldn’t resist moving in to embrace him.

“Really, thank you so much.” You said against his collar, breathing in his comforting antiseptic scent. He laughed embarrassedly and pat your back, then waved as he left through the door.

You were prepared to lie down for a nap, though, when someone else walked in. Your eyes met his and you flushed immediately, fingers pinching the edge of your tee. “Yoongi,” you greeted.

“Y/N,” he nodded and moved towards you.

It’s not as though you hadn’t seen him since… that night. No, in fact, you saw him every day, but despite everything, every time you looked into his eyes, you were reminded of his lips, his tongue, his silvery skin, his powerful thrusts… you shook the thoughts away. You had not been intimate since.

The morning after, he was still beside you, sound asleep as though it were the best snooze of his life. His arms were wrapped around your frame protectively, and he lightly snored as you observed his features in the early morning sunlight before you fell asleep again. Later on, he woke you up with breakfast and demanded Youngjae check your wound—as if he had forgotten about it the night prior and worried he’d been too rough. But he hadn’t been; all was fine.

Since, he’d taken you on tours around the mansion, to the garden and the greenhouse and every mystical place you couldn’t imagine the Mins having in their domain. Though when night fell, he never returned to his bedroom to sleep. You wondered if it had been a mistake, but you began noticing changes in his demeanor. He looked at you softly at times, and you realized he was probably considering similar things.

Though, before you now, there’s something else in his eyes. Anticipation.

“Jackson Wang.” He said, timbre in his voice, and you froze, your chest blooming with an unidentified emotion.  _How does he know his name? Did something happen? Is Jackson here? Where is—?!_

“He wants to meet. To make an offer.”

You blinked at him. “Yoongi, what kind of offer? How do you know about Jackson?”

Yoongi shuffled towards you and sat atop the bed, and unreadable expression on his face. A hand rose to tenderly stroke your cheek, a finger wrapping around a tendril of loose hair. You inwardly cursed, having leaned into the touch instinctively.

“He has my Father’s crest. And he wants to trade it for you.”

* * *

_3 hours prior_

* * *

“I’m sorry, we can’t do it.” Jin sported a genuine frown and ran a hand through his hair. Jungkook reached an arm out to pat Jackson’s shoulder.

“I wish we could help, but we’ve already risked too much. I’m sorry, Wang. We can’t do that to ourselves anymore.”

Jackson nodded, understanding. Of course he was. Those two police officers did more than anyone else in the precinct, and it was only fair they had time to relax and steer clear of the mobs. They did their part. Though, he thought he might as well try.

Jin took a sip of his steaming coffee, the bags under his eyes not too different from those under his partner’s.

“No, you’ve already done so much. I appreciate it guys, really.” He nodded at them and stepped away, making for the exit. “Take care and do yourselves a favor; take a vacation while you’re at it. You deserve it.”

Jungkook beamed after his praise, bringing his mug up before taking a hefty swing of the stuff. Jackson smiled after leaving the room,  _if only they knew Jimin’s actually promoting them next week._

He was quick to pull out his phone and dial up a number he knew all too well.

“Jackson? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Bam. You still have a knack for hacking?”

There was chuckling on the other line before his friend answered, “I’ve been on injury leave for the past month, what else am I going to do than brush up my IT skills?”

Jackson nodded to himself. “You able to leave your apartment for a bit?”

“Are you inviting me some place I shouldn’t be going?”

“Yes.”

“Cool shit man, I’m baking a pizza now if you want to come over to discuss whatever the fuck you’re planning.”

“Pepperoni?”

“Why anything else?”

“Good point. I’ll be there in twenty.”

* * *

“So,” Bam-Bam swiped grease from his chin, the droplets seeping into his gray sweatpants. “you record a peace offering, I get into their computers and broadcast it?” Bam-Bam was a wry guy. His skin was tanned and his hair was awry with careless brushing, dark and tickling his brows. He was tall, lanky, but he did his job better than anyone else, and Jackson can’t have imagined ever being partnered with anyone else.

The blonde, mouth full of crust, nodded, rolling the Min crest around his palm.

“Shit dude, why didn’t you want me to do this like a month ago? I’ve been bored out of my mind! Jimin won’t let me back until I can readily do some field work, but I’d even be happy if he sat me in a cubicle. I’m sick of house arrest.”

“But you’re not on house arrest.”

“Yeah, well it feels like it.” He flicked a speckle of pepperoni onto the floor and leaned back. “When we doin’ this?” Jackson rose and eyed the equipment lining the extraordinarily large computer desk.

“Now, if we can.” Bam-Bam delved greedily into another slice, wordlessly nodding before moving over to his computer and prepping an external web cam.

“How long will it take for you to get it over there?” Jackson followed behind, his eyebrows knitting. It’d be convenient if this whole ordeal can blow over within a week, though, that was highly unlikely, seeing as he’d be hacking into the computers of a mafia ho—

“An hour, maybe two.”

“ _Shit_ , man,” Jackson breathed, clapping a hand on his friend’s back. Well. How about that.

“Ya boy’s got skills. You know what you’re gonna say? We can record it now.”

Jackson nodded, his blonde hair falling into his eyes. He’d been very unkempt since Y/N was kidnapped, some stubble even lining his usually bare jaw.

Bam-Bam moved out of the way of the camera, the screen before Jackson taking in his features. He peered at the crest in his palm, finding that with every new glimpse at it, he only became angrier at the damn thing.

It should all be over soon. He gave Bam the signal, and the camera began its capture.

It will all be over soon.

* * *

Sure enough, that was the Min crest. You felt your eyes tear up when the video ended, focusing on the stilled image of Jackson on the screen. You could have cried joyously when you discovered it really was him, only biting back your whimpers because you were surrounded by Mins.

To your right, Yoongi’s lips were flattened into a stiff line. Namjoon swiveled in his chair, locking eyes with his boss, something like a ‘ _so what now?_ ’ passing through them. He clicked out of the video and you felt your heart drop as you stared at the plain desktop.

You turned to Yoongi, and he sensed your gaze, looking right back at you. You could see, then, that he knew the man in the video is the same man locked in your heart. He took in your features wordlessly, his eyes soft with a sort of regret lingering in them. You swallowed, stomach dropping. You could already tell what was going to happen next.

“V, Namjoon.” He ordered, his voice deep and smooth. “Be in my office in 15 to discuss the arrangement. Bring Hoseok too.”

That was it. They were going to trade you for the diamond. You didn’t know how to feel, your worth being that of the same as the rock that brought you there. It hurt, though. It definitely hurt.

As you stalked back to Yoongi’s room, you convinced yourself this was for the better, that you’d be reunited with your Family and Jackson in no time. That you could finally visit Junior’s grave and pay your respects. That you could return to living as Y/N, the daughter of the L/N mob boss. The false daughter.

You shook your head. You should be elated; leaving the Min mansion was on your mind since the beginning, and now that the time has come, you were feeling anxious. What would be waiting for you on the other side of that gate? You couldn’t help but to wonder this.

As you crawled beneath the duvet, wanting sleep to overcome your thoughts, you were shrouded with apprehension. You did not find sleep. You only found uncertainty.

* * *

“Tomorrow morning,” You jumped from your dozing state, turning quickly to Yoongi. He stood before the door, his eyes slanted. He was wearing a navy tee, paired with faded blue jeans. The definition of casual. You sat up in the bed, leaning against the headboard. “Tomorrow morning.” You repeated, voice no more than a whisper. You knew what that meant. He didn’t need words to explain what would happen the following day.

Yoongi crossed over the room, slowly, his eyes locked with yours the entire time. When he stood at the foot of the bed, he kicked off his shoes and crawled in after you.

You let him sit beside you, his shoulder brushing yours, his fingers coming to tap gently against your knee.

“At nine o’ clock you will be standing with me before the gate. Jackson Wang and his associate will stand on the other side. When he presents the crest, you will walk forward with Hoseok and he will do the honors of receiving it. He will send you off.”

You looked over to him, watching as his eyes traced the palm of your hand, and you reached over to clasp his. He reacted immediately, lacing his fingers with yours, like two immaculately arranged puzzle pieces. “Why can’t you send me off?” You asked in hushed tones, your breath tickling his cheek.

He silently rubbed his thumb over your skin and leaned his head back. “For security purposes. In case Wang is planning anything.”

“He wouldn’t do—”

“Just in case, Y/N. My men don’t want me taking the risk.”

You fell into silence and found yourself resting your head on his shoulder. A thought probed your mind. “Are you happy you’ll be getting the crest back?”

Yoongi nearly stiffened at your side, his thumb retracting from your palm, and you’d almost regretted questioning until he said, “Yes, I am.”

You were holding your breath, “That’s… good.”

After a few beats, he asked, “Are you happy to be returning?” You closed your eyes and thought of everyone you’d left behind, a tiny lift appearing in the corner of your lips.

“Yes, I am.”

“That’s good.”

More comfortable stillness surrounded you, and you felt butterflies fluttering away in your abdomen, the anticipation and nervousness eating away at you.

“I just want you to know,” He began, “I’m only doing this because I loved my Father very much. And it was his dying wish.”

You bowed your head, the words seeping into the recesses of your mind. If that was the case, then that was Yoongi’s way of saying he wasn’t giving you away for his own satisfaction. Then that means…

“You don’t want me to go?” There was a hopeful tone in your voice, and you almost cursed at how optimistic you seemed.

“No, I don’t.” He answered earnestly, his dark eyes peering forward as it seemed his mind was reeling with endless thoughts. You clutched him harder, and he finally glanced down at you.

You were speaking not with your mind, but with your clenching heart when you said, “I don’t think I want to go.” There was a tear that breached surface and rolled down your cheek, and Yoongi didn’t hesitate to swipe it gently with his thumb. He smiled sadly.

“I know. But you must. You’ll be happier. I can see you’re still suffering here.” You went to object, but the words caught in your throat; you knew he was right. Yoongi situated himself upright and cracked a grin. “Besides, I’ve already lost the battle for your heart. Wang had better treat you damn well.” He gritted his teeth, but you could tell he was being lighthearted. It cheered you up a bit.

“He will.” You smiled softly. Simultaneously, the two of you sighed and relaxed against one another. Yoongi suddenly turned, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “Let me kiss you. Just one more time.”

You were shell-shocked at the request—no, the demand—and decided you’d very much like that too. Before you could respond, you were pushed onto your back and he hovered over you, straddling your legs.

It was pleasantly sweet, and not short at all. He lips pressed yours delicately, as he stroked the sides of your arms. Something about it felt as though he was bidding farewell. And then, you realized, he was, and a flush of sadness enveloped you as he pulled away.

He remained above, his sorrowful black orbs glistening. “You’re worth more than a million of those fucking diamonds.” He stated firmly, and you choked back a sob.

Your last night at the Min mansion was spent in the arms of the mob boss, a tender goodbye being bid within the bed sheets.

* * *

The grandfather clock read 8:54. Your eyes bore into the numerals and your breath hitched with almost every tick. Beside you, V was playing on his phone, and across the room, Namjoon was taking an important call. Yoongi was MIA in the moment, and the remainder of the Mins steered clear from the main floor, busying themselves up on the balconies. It reminded you of the morning before the war broke out, just days ago—except now, there was less hostility.

A hand gently smoothed down your arm and it took you a moment to realize V had retired his cell phone and was sending you a soft look. “Relax, you’re making me nervous.” His deep voice was calming to your nerves, and you smiled at him, in appreciation. He patted your back and returned to his phone, only to be interrupted by Namjoon.

“Just received word that Wang is at the front gate. It’s only he and his associate, as far as we can tell.” Namjoon deposited his cell into his vest pocket and nodded your way. “Boss is on his way.”

You swallowed thickly and fiddled your fingers with the hem of the loaned dress. It was something Tabetha had brought, a torn smile on her aged face. She embraced you as though she were a mother sending her child off abroad, and you never realized how much you missed a motherly presence until it was time to say goodbye.

At this moment Yoongi approached, with Hoseok following suit. His eyes scanned your full form from bottom to top, appreciatively, and you would have blushed had it not been such a tense situation. When he met your eyes, a ghost of a smile graced his thin lips; sad and comforting. You returned the gesture, moving slightly when V hooked his elbow with yours and guided you to the door. The marble beneath your feet was glinting against the rays of early sun seeping in through the windows, your toes clenching within your flats as you padded forward. It was now. The time was now.

Without a word, Namjoon unlocked the heavy entrance. It swung open with a creak that severed the silence, a deafening tone resonating within the foyer. You swallowed thickly, blinking against the intrusive glare of the morning sky. A breeze blew wisps of hair around your face, and your dress billowed almost romantically. And you saw him immediately; standing past the gate; his eyes fixated on you all these meters away.

Your heart swelled with glee.

Jackson.

V gave you a gentle urge forward, and you trailed after Namjoon. At your side, Yoongi’s shoulder brushed yours, his figure otherwise straight and robotic.

Time passed slowly, without rhythm, and anxiety flourished in your chest.

Namjoon stopped before the gate, sidestepping to assume another position in the formation. You could see him clearly now—his tired but piercing eyes, his shaggy pale locks, the shadow gracing his chin. He seemed so different, but you knew he was the same man you loved.

Lost in the concentration, you failed to notice V leaving your side, his eyes carefully set upon Jackson and the man to his right. The Min moved to unlock the gate, and when he did, the only barrier between you and Jackson was Min Yoongi himself.

He stood before you, his alpha radiance pouring from his being and challenging Jackson, who stood just as strongly. Man to man, a wordless battle.

  
“The crest.” Yoongi spoke, quietly, darkly, and if you could see his face, you’re sure he’d be making something like a glare.

Jackson wordlessly fingered his vest pocket, his eyes not daring to leave the Min’s—not backing down.

He pulled his closed palm free and revealed the diamond, the sight of it drawing a breath from you. It was beautiful, and it caused so much pain—but it was beautiful, glistening in the light, cleansed of pigment.

You peered around Yoongi, catching his eyes flitting towards the stone, a flinch in his façade. You could feel his anticipation, his yearning. He was so close. You could see everything about him in that moment.

“Okay.” He said simply, a nod following, and he suddenly turned, gesturing for Hoseok to make his move. The man stepped through the group from where he was trailing at the back. He sent a tiny smile your way before gently grabbing your elbow and bringing you forward. Your breath hitched when you realized this was the last time you’d be with them. With him.

You peered over your shoulder, and almost regretted it. Yoongi was glancing at his feet, seamlessly avoiding your eyes, and you frowned, stomach dropping. “Goodbye,” you whispered, facing the fate once more, a tear threatening to spill.

It was over.

He wouldn’t face you anymore.

Your heart hurt, and you sought the hopeful eyes of Jackson. He looked relieved to see you so close. He was almost smiling, even, awaiting the completion of the transaction.

Then you were suddenly pulled to the side, a chorus of, “Boss!” filling the air. Hoseok’s arm tore away from you and you caught a glimpse of Jackson reaching for his holster before your face was buried in the maple scent of Yoongi’s lapels.

A cry tore from your throat as you squeezed around him, your arms moving on their own accord as he breathed in your tendrils.

“I’m doing this myself.”

He carefully removed his body and tangled your fingers with his, stalking forward with determination in his step. He led you past the gate, and before you knew it, you were nearly at arm’s length from Jackson, who maintained a wary look in his eyes and hand on his pistol.

“Wang,” Yoongi gritted out, and the agent raised a brow. “This woman is the greatest thing that has ever happened to my life.”

You flushed and eyed him like he was speaking tales of the lochness monster.

“If you do anything to harm her, I will personally wipe the floor with your face.” His fingers tightened around yours, and you looked at Jackson.

He appeared indifferent, though his thumb was fiddling with the crest. “Fair enough.” He seethed quietly.

Yoongi relaxed, “Good.”

The blonde’s arm raised again, his offering on the table. Yoongi glanced at it and swallowed. So close. He slowly made to take it, to reclaim his family’s honor and glory. To appease the final wishes of his father.

The stone teased his fingers, and he released yours.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

* * *

The rest was a blur. Y/N watched through the rear window of the vehicle as the mansion grew farther away. She could still see Hosoek offering a playful wave, Namjoon and V smiling her way, and Yoongi clenching the stone so hard in his hand, he was bound to draw blood.

But his eyes were fixated on hers, unspoken words seeping from those endless pits of onyx.  _I loved you when you were mine._

The car went out of sight and the Boss tuned out the voices of his men as he glared at the shimmering stone in his palm. He flicked it into the air, frowning as he caught it. “All for a stupid rock.”

* * *

When the vehicle turned, and mansion was finally a distant memory, Y/N squeezed Jackson’s large hand. She looked up at him, her chin brushing his shoulder as he rubbed her thigh soothingly. BamBam drove silently, but to the two, it was only them in their little world.

“I was starting to think you went and found another damsel to rescue.” She said lightly, and he gave her the fullest grin she’d ever seen.

“Yeah, but she didn’t annoy me as much, so I got bored.” Y/N laughed heartily, not wasting a second to tuck her head into his neck and breath in his sandalwood scent. He smelled like home. She was going home.

The rest of the ride passed in tired silence, the two finally basking in one another’s solace.

When they arrived at Jackson’s flat, BamBam winked Y/N’s way as he opened the door for her. “You know, if I wasn’t on leave, it would have been me protecting you.” He flirted like it was something he did in his spare time.

Jackson scoffed and shoved him back as the lithe boy cackled. “Jimin chose the best man for the job, which was not you for obvious reasons.”

“Hey!” The younger boy chastised. “I can be charming! And bodyguard-material!” The girl watched the old friends banter with a grin and a giggle. She trailed after Jackson as he compared the younger to a bean sprout.

“That was before I went to the gym—look at me now!” He flexed an arm hidden beneath his baggy button-up, and Jackson rolled his eyes, fingers seeking yours as he pulled you away.

“I asked Jimin to reduce your leave, so you’re to be back to work next week. Until then, don’t even dare to come visit us.”

Bam’s eyes glistened and all the irritation from before sizzled away and was replaced with glee. “Shit! You won’t see me for a month! I owe you big time, man!”

He gave an appreciative clap to his friend’s shoulder and nodded Y/N’s way. “It was nice to meet you, babe. Let me know if Jackie here bores you.” Another wink, and she laughed out loud as Jackson cursed and pulled her away.

BamBam returned to the driver’s seat and pulled from the building, leaving Y/N to grin up at the blonde. “Are you jealous, Agent Wang?” she giggled as the man fished for his keys. Jackson shot her a look as he unlocked the door, shoving it open without caution. She teased harder, all the worries plaguing her from days prior having dissolved. “I don’t know why you’re so bothered; BamBam seems like great company.”

He pulled her inside and she squealed, her back being pressed against the door instantly. His breath fanned her face, and she grew hot at the proximity.

“Don’t say his name and he’s shitty company. Besides, I have a two-week suspension and I intend to make full use of that time.”

Y/N flushed and swallowed thickly, her heart rapidly expressing its excitement against his chest. “I’d like that a lot.” She whispered, her finger trailing up his cheek.

* * *

Despite his unspoken promises, the two of you slept for the most part. Which was relieving, to say the least; you were still healing from your abdominal wound and didn’t sleep too well during your stay at the Min mansion. So, sleep was greatly needed. Alongside the tediousness of the agent, who assumed an almost motherly role in those days, you were finally allowing your walls to break down. Jackson was almost babying you with the amount of carefulness he tended, and you wished to reciprocate the gesture.

It felt great to be pampered by the guy—who you were now positive was just a big cuddly bear on the inside—because he never let you out of his sight. He’d prepare breakfast in bed when you slept in and secure you in his arms when you lounged on the couch.

With the curtains drawn in his small minimalistic home, you felt more relaxed than you had in ages. No responsibilities. No mafia. No Families. Just you, he, and the quaint little loft where you watched reruns of crime shows.

A week passed, and, in the midst of spooning some cereal, you realized you only had a week left before Jackson had to return to work. What did that mean for you?

He must have sensed your shift in mood (he always did), because he enveloped you into his chest with one arm while folding a newspaper down.

“What’s wrong?”

You hesitated telling him—you weren’t quite sure how to put it—so you remained silent and shrugged, unenthusiastically swirling the Cheerios in the bowl.

Jackson kissed your forehead, and you couldn’t fight the smile playing your lips even if you tried. He was an affectionate guy, what can you say?

“If you’re nervous about going back to your mansion, don’t be.”

Then it occurred to you that, yes, it was now  _your_ mansion. You were next in line. Your stomach dropped and you met Jackson with big doe eyes. “I don’t know how to be a mob boss, Wang.”

The corner of his lips twitched and he ruffled your hair before standing from the table. “I think you’ll be fine. I talked with Junior and he says the arrangements to have you have already been made. You’ll be great. With him on your side, you’ll rule the nation.”

It took you a few moments to comprehend what he said, and soon enough, an ear—splitting grin marked your features.

Jackson told you about Junior the day you reunited, and you cried probably too many tears too be physically okay. He was alive. He was still in recovery, but was, apparently, taking charge of the mansion while the remnants of war smoothened out. Your li’l trooper… all grown up. You smirked at the thought. HA.

But if Junior was at your side, you knew you could trust Jackson’s judgement. Maybe things would be okay.

“Thank you.” You smiled and stroked his cheek, leaning up to press your lips against the underside of his jaw. He brought his warm chest against yours and lifted you until you were sat up on the table. He grinned, curling his fingers in your hair, and leaned in just enough to kiss your nose and laugh when you released an airy giggle.

You loved tender moments like these. Just being with one another, in one another’s presence—basking in the comfort of him being there for you and you, for him. It was such a soft, sweet, fluffy moment, much like many of your fluffy moments, and for the hundredth time, you realized you couldn’t be with anyone else.

* * *

“Fuck me.”

What a drastic change. But don’t worry, you have good reason for standing before the stunned man in only a loose T and the tiniest of shorts. It was nearing the end of his two-week leave period and the damn blonde babied you to the end of it.

No, that wouldn’t do, you decided. So, you stripped and spent an extra long time in the shower before toweling off and challenging him at his bedpost.

“Uh—”

“Jackson Wang, you have coddled me for too long, and I’m sick of waiting for you to make a move.”

He went to speak and you cut him off again, a poised hand on your hip. “I want you to fuck me and I want you to fuck me hard, is that clear?”

A shadow of fear passed over his features and he was gulping thickly, scrambling to scoot back until he was against the headboard of his bed. Then he was taking in your figure; the expanse of smooth skin dancing along your legs; the curve of your womanhood concealed by your shorts; your breasts, poised and pert beneath his tee shirt.

You saw the haze pass over his eyes, the darkening—the carnal desire erupting within him. He fisted the sheets at his side before nodding once, only once.

“Affirmative.”

Your lips curled into a wicked smile as excitement exploded in your gut. Before you could move forward, crawl over to him, though, Jackson steered himself off the side of the mattress. He paced over to you, calmly, the pale of the moonlight striking against his features. He towered over you, his hands coming to rest on your hips, the toughness of his skin forcing a tremble out of you.

“But first,” He said, his nose centimeters from your own, “I’m going to make love to you.”

Before you could openly reveal your surprise from his statement, his lips slotted against yours and he quite literally swept you off your feet. Your back was pressed into the comforter too quick for you to realize you’d moved, and the blonde agent was supporting himself above you.

His lips, soft and graceful, opposed his brow, which was drawn in some pressing concentration. While his palms gently squeezed at the slopes of your sides, he managed to sidle in between your expecting knees and press himself to you, the evidence of his arousal making home at the vertex of your legs.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” He whispered against your bottom lip, pulled back just enough to breath those words.

“Why didn’t you?” Your eyelids fluttered open.

He shook his head, his bangs falling into his lashes. “I didn’t want to rush it.”

You smiled, warmth filling you, then you rolled your pelvis against him and bit back a laugh at his morphed expression. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

A tender stroke of his hand, and your cheek was nuzzling against his palm. Jackson’s dark eyes glistened as his gaze turned adoring. “No more waiting then.”

A soft giggle emitted from your mouth, and you met his lips again. It felt right. All of it. As impatient as you had been, you knew in your heart that then and there, as he hovered above you—it was the right time.

He kissed you, and he kissed you, and he  _kissed_ you, as though all the kisses he’d blessed your pretty lips with before were mere things of play.

When his firm, calloused hand came around your side, his grip tightening on your hip, you  _groaned._ Because he was so close to your aching core, his groin tucked neatly into yours as though it were made for it.

He rolled against you again, and you arched against his front, the loose T shirt riding up your ribs and dancing along your breasts.

It was blur of tongue and bliss, and you were ridden of your sparse clothing in a flurry of heated instances. His rough fingers stroked your warmth, which was dripping with anticipation. Hair sticking against the perspiration lining your brow, you curled beneath him, claiming the sheets with clamped fingers.

“Oh, fuck—Jackson, I can’t wait any longer.”

It had been minutes of his incessant thrusting, his fingers coated to the knuckle with your slick. You cried out, the plea in your tone having triggered his greediness—he would make you cum, and he would make you cum as many times as he pleased.

“I feel you squeezing me,” He whispered, almost entirely to himself. The huskiness of his deep voice had met a baritone the second he ripped off your panties. And now, he was dreading not having done it sooner.

When he finally unsheathed himself, his girthy length angrily slapping against his bare naval, you groaned, the sheer sight of it reigniting the flame that drowned after your first orgasm.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” He warned, the cloud in his eyes dissipating for an instant. They were warm, soft, and searching for any protests. He found none. A condom was located previously, and he rolled it onto himself without hesitation.

You nodded gently, urging him on with a needy palm, stroking the underside of his length. He released a soft groan, his forearms quivering at your sides. As much as his words endeared you, you needed to feel him immediately or you’d go mad.

“Okay, but I’m gonna need you to speed up a bit,” you smirked, the blonde’s eyelids fluttering closed at the contact. He reveled in your touch, but at your whisper, he froze, his brows drawn.

There was something deep in the abyss of his engaging orbs—fire, a challenge. Slowly, you saw the primal need to claim you and fuck you into oblivion breach surface; excitement sparked within you.

“Don’t. Tempt. Me.” He gritted out, again, and with every syllable, he rammed his fingers into your sensitive core. You crumbled beneath him, then, your thoughts meeting a brick wall.

He didn’t wait for you to come to; he began his infiltration, his member greeting your slick folds. “Jackson!” you whined, head throwing back into his pillows. His movements were slow, patient, despite the look in his eyes that suggested he wanted to wreck you.

“Fuck,” He breathed out, his face falling forward to your neck. His lips graced your collarbones as you hissed aloud; he had bottomed out.

And with every following thrust, the intensity, the speed, the  _impact_  of his balls against your glistening pelvis, you were his. And he was yours.

His pace had gone from steady and patient to fast, merciless, and demanding, the electricity of his cock stabbing against your cervix being almost too much to bear.

You were constricting him from within, and he huffed his pants into your ear, where you could hear his nearing end, his racing heartbeat.

“I’m getting close,” He would exhale, grappling the undersides of your arms to hoist you up, sitting on his lap.

“God!” you cried out, falling against him, your barren breasts drawing circles against his formidable pectorals. So close, but you weren’t ready to let go. You could never let go after this. _I love yous_ were strung together like Christmas lights, flickering with every new stroke and every new gasp of pleasure.

When your second orgasm hit, you were so spent that Jackson was supporting your weight entirely. He  _thrusted_ up, into you, like his life depended on it. His teeth clamping around your shoulder to bite back his curses as he unloaded into the condom.

And when the headlights of cars passed through the window. And when the stillness of your surroundings finally caught up to you. And when your heartbeats slowed into effortless synchronicity. You stayed there, together; one.

Both; weary, tired, clinging to one another and unwilling to let go.

Both; a night of love and sex and everything dirty, gritty, and raw belonging in every mafia romance.


	10. Epilogue

A one Min Yoongi stood alone before the grand gravestone of his late father. The burial grounds of the Min family were not unfamiliar to him. In fact, he made it a regular occurrence to visit the fallen man, and whisper his soft words to him, or say nothing at all.

This time, as his feet planted before the glorious stone, a certain crest danced along his pale fingers.

He sighed, the gloominess of the day taunting him with overcasts and mists. His hair was now a snowy mass of unruly locks (he changed it at Hoseok’s suggestion to start over with something new). His lithe body adorned the loosest of suits, ensuring his warmth on the cool day; the noire of his sleeves and pants contrasted his milky skin and hair, but the dry green beneath his shoes offered some saturation to the near-clinical scene.  

He tossed the diamond into the air, capturing it with ease. A chuckle came from his lips, lacking humor. Then, he strolled forward, careful to avoid the surface area just before the grave, and kneeled down. The soil was still ripe and moist with little passed time, loose enough to bury his fingers into. He did, seamlessly, a handful of dirt clasped in his hand. He buried the crest, then, with his father. Where it belonged.

He thought about the troubles the thing caused. What it created. What it destroyed. “Fucking rock.” He murmured, scuffing the toes of his shoes against some dead grass.

And now, he was putting it to rest.

When he rose, he squinted at the sun, where it suddenly offered its presence to the man.

He sighed again. Because this was all so dramatic. But it was finally over.

* * *

“I’m sorry I’m late!” You called out, hustling into the café where a certain blonde-haired hunk was nursing a heavily organic beverage. He smiled at you, swiveling in his stool to embrace you as you bounded toward him.

“Y/N,” he greeted. “It’s okay; I haven’t been waiting for long.”

Three months passed since you assumed your new role as a mob leader. The truth seemed strange to acknowledge, but as far-fetched as the idea would have seemed a year prior, things were running smoothly under your reign.

The mansion was in order. You had made diligent efforts to sever any bad ties with other Families and disconnect with sources providing dirty money. You weren’t about that lifestyle, and the best part of it? Your Family and subordinates supported that entirely. It was time for a change.

Junior healed pleasantly fast and took on the role as your right-hand man, as he once was for your father. Jaebum matured in the time, demonstrating his knack for entrepreneurship by expanding L/N business elsewhere and elsehow. Director Park Jimin, while he was still adamant about steering clear of mafia affairs, did become a friend along the way, the same with Jin, Jungkook, and Bam Bam, who were always looking forward to your visits to the Agency.

And Yoongi…

You smiled as you reminisced a particular visit to the Min mansion.

Yoongi was an ally; the Mins, allies.

Because in the cruel world where mafias ran the underground, normal people were still committing heinous acts of crime and getting caught in the mobs’ crosshairs. Other Families would threaten you and yours for backing out of a partnership that had guaranteed blood in the mix.

You needed an ally, because you were tired of fighting a battle alone.

And Min Yoongi was more than welcoming of the idea.

Together, a day no one saw coming, the Mins and L/Ns joined forces to rule the land. A near-omnipotent partnership.

You had a timid reunion with his men. But you were quickly embraced by Hobi, and the castles of past grievances crumbled from there.

V and Namjoon would escort you around the premises, Junior tethered to your side, Hoseok would drive you to and from the Min mansion, and Youngjae would  _always_ offer his medical attention—even if it wasn’t needed.

And Yoongi. You knew the feelings were still there. Every time he would smile at you, and you would laugh at him. But they were tucked away. Because while you couldn’t be together, you could still stand by his side. At that was something. He became your dearest friend.

So as you bombarded Jackson with a very hearty embrace, you couldn’t fight the tears pricking your eyes. After everything. After everything, and you were still surrounded by people you loved. You were at your happiest moment in life.

“Miss me that much?” He chuckled, ruffling your hair sloppily. You kissed his cheek harshly, a tiny imprint of pink gloss sticking to his stubble.

“I haven’t seen you in two weeks; so yes.”

In the aftermath of the war and the rearrangement of authority, Jackson was swamped with new assignments, and your hectic schedule didn’t help in the slightest.

It was a rarity to find time to be with one another outside of work-related matters. But today is special, you thought.

You scooched into the stool beside his, unfurling your scarf from your neck. At this, you hailed a happy Mark over, and he brought with him your regular drink order.

“Long time, Y/N. It’s getting lonely with Jacky here all by himself.” He teased with a wink, something you should’ve been used to by now. But you weren’t. You giggled after him, raising a brow to your boyfriend.

“See? Mark misses me.”

Jackson only rolled his eyes and took a long sip from his tea. Yugyeom appeared with a plate of his infamous croissants, warm and flaky, and placed them right in front of you.

You could’ve cried at the delicious aroma, blessing him with your tears. “My hero~” You cooed. He shyly smiled and followed Mark back to the register, leaving you and the blonde to catch up.

“So,” He started, his bangs swept back with gel and his sharp jaw working on the liquid in his mouth. “Things well at the mansion? I haven’t been there in a while.”

You smiled at him, tearing the end of a croissant with your teeth like a ravenous animal.

“All good.” You chewed out noisily, and Jackson scoffed at you adoringly. Excitement bubbled within you as you decided to just come out with it. It was the perfect time, and the perfect place, and god, you just loved the man so much, you couldn’t wait.

“I actually have another reason I wanted to meet today.” You declared, turning to face him fully. At this, the broad man raised a brow and met you halfway, his lips pulled tight in anticipation.

“You’re pregnant.”

A deadpan. He fucking deadpanned that.

It took a glorious three minutes to sober up from your denial and cackling, to which the agent merely watched in confusion. “I’m—HA!—I’m not pre—hahahah! Not pregnant!” You clapped his shoulder, swiping tears from your eyes.

“Then what?” He pouted, turning to shield his reddened cheeks.

You caught your breath and cleared your throat, fingers clasping together atop the café table. “Agent Jackson Wang,” He turned at this, heeding the serious tone in your voice. “I have a proposition for you.”

You took his silence as a sign to continue. You had his attention. And while you wanted to come across as professional as possible, you couldn’t fight the grin overtaking your features.

This was all you ever wanted. With the wars waged, and your friends and Family happy, this was the final prospect to living a fulfilling life. A life with the man you loved.

“I was thinking of hiring a permanent bodyguard.”

_FIN_


End file.
